


A Slight Miscalculation

by miss_aphelion



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes-centric, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, Post-Avengers (2012), Protective Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2018-11-16 19:46:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 49,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11259711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_aphelion/pseuds/miss_aphelion
Summary: It starts as a joke on Instagram, a tourist in New York posts a picture with the caption:Was going through my vacation photos and saw this. No big deal. It's just the ghost of Bucky Barnes.By the end of the day the image has gone viral: a young man with short brown hair walking down the street in a grey pea coat, hands in his pockets as he glances back just in time to be caught in the photo. The moment Steve sees it, he knows it’s Bucky. He doesn't care what his friends tell him. He knows it's not just some lookalike, and it's sure as hell not a ghost.(Or; the Winter Soldier does not kill Howard Stark and his wife in 1991, and escapes from Hydra with Howard's help. But fate still has every intention of getting Steve and Bucky back within the same time and place)





	1. the prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [计算错误](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11326461) by [flymetothemoon16](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flymetothemoon16/pseuds/flymetothemoon16)



> This was supposed to be just a short prologue to set up the story, but it got a little out of hand. I promise Steve will show up in the next chapter! Also, in regards to the Steve and Bucky relationship, they're definitely going to have more than just friendship so I put the tag, but it will probably remain mostly preslash within the bounds of the story. I’m all for deep emotional connections, but not so heavy on the romance, so be forewarned if that’s not what you’re looking for! 
> 
> WARNING: Let’s just say I don’t kill anyone that isn’t already dead in the MCU. Except for maybe some bad guys, if the occasion arises.

"Who the hell is Sergeant Barnes?"

Howard Stark stared up at Bucky Barnes with something between horror and awe. There was a small furrow in Barnes' brow as the man stared back, unsure, his raised metal fist still held ready but unmoving. 

“Who the hell is Sergeant Barnes?” he asked again. 

“You are,” Howard breathed. 

He didn’t know it, but those were the words that saved him. Barnes let him go, looking startled, and stumbled back. “No,” he said simply, but the cold had disappeared from his eyes, leaving only confusion behind. He shook his head. “You are the mission. Sanction. Extraction.” 

Howard could hear Maria whispering his name. It took everything in him not to turn to look, but he knew better than to take his eyes off Barnes. “No, you’re Sergeant Barnes,” he insisted. “You used to work with me. We had a couple missions together.” 

Barnes looked back at him, tilting his head as he examined him. “You were much younger,” he said, his voice strangely wistful as he glanced down to carefully examine his own flesh and blood hand, “but I…I wasn’t. I was…you had a flying car.” 

“Yeah,” Howard said, his voice tinged with relief. “Steve always did say you liked that. Asked me once to build you one after the war.” 

That got more of a reaction than anything else he had said, and he was pretty sure Barnes didn’t care about the flying car. His eyes widened and he stumbled back another step, as though Howard were the one that might hurt him. “Steve,” he echoed. 

“Howard?” Maria called again, her voice weak and fading. 

Howard pursed his lips. “Sergeant Barnes, my wife needs help,” he said. “I need to get her help.” 

“No witnesses,” Barnes told him. 

Howard held out his hands carefully. “We’re friends, don’t you remember?” he asked. “And Steve would want you to help us. Do you…do you remember Steve?” 

He did not remember Steve, but he did know that there was a Steve to remember. He backed away from the man who looked too old to be the man he could see in his hazy memories, and glanced back down the road. He knew this road, and he knew that few people would use it this late. Interference was unlikely. 

His mission could still be completed. 

“Sergeant Barnes,” Howard said again, drawing his attention. “Please.” 

His targets had begged before. It was unpleasant but usually just caused him to kill them quicker and more efficiently so that it would stop—but none had ever said they knew him. None had given him a name. 

_Sergeant James Barnes, shipping out—_. 

“My name is James,” he said, but that didn’t sound right. That didn’t sound like his name. 

“Yes,” Howard said hopefully. “Sergeant James Barnes, but your friends called you Bucky.” 

“You said you were my friend,” Barnes accused him. “You call me Sergeant Barnes.” 

“So I do,” Howard said wryly. “That’s because we worked together, it was protocol. But I can call you Bucky if you’d like.” 

“No,” Barnes said. It didn’t sound right, coming from him. But he could hear another voice calling that name. “Don't."

“Okay, Sergeant,” Howard said. “But I need to get help for my wife, and I can't leave her here alone. There’s a town about a mile down the road, they’ve got a payphone. You could call for help. You dial 911 and tell them there’s been an accident. Could you do that?” 

“Yes,” he said. It was a simple enough mission, but the trouble was that it was counter to his current mission. It would be worse than failure, this would be deliberate sabotage. “But that is not my mission.” 

“My wife is going to die,” Howard said. 

“That is my mission,” Barnes agreed. 

“We’re sort of talking in circles now, pal,” Howard said gently. “I don’t think you really want to kill us.” 

“Why would I _want_ to kill you?” Barnes asked innocently, looking down at him with a small frown. “It is my mission.” 

“Screw your mission,” Howard told him sharply. "Help me save my wife, and I’ll help save you. You won’t have to do anything you don’t want to ever again.” 

He had tried escape before. He did not remember how or when, they had taken the memory. But he knew that he had. He could remember hiding from them, he could remember the words coming through the walls to snare him and send him back. Escape never worked. 

But then he’d never had help. 

“Okay," Barnes decided. 

Howard sat back on his heels, exhausted, and stared at him with disbelief, as though he did not really expect that it would work. “You’ll go get help?”

“Yes,” Barnes agreed. 

“Okay,” Howard said. “Okay, call for help, then I want you to get a motel room. Check in and wait for me. Can you do that?” 

“They would require money,” Barnes said. “My mission did not require money.” 

“I have money. I’m going to get my wallet, real slow, okay?” Howard asked, proceeding only when Barnes gave him a tight, sharp nod. He pulled out his wallet and tossed it over. Barnes caught it without ever taking his eyes from Howard. 

“Sergeant, please,” Howard began, his breath catching as he faced off his would-be killer, “please, rent a room and wait for me. I need to take care of my wife, but I’ll come back for you. Will you do that?” 

“Yes,” Barnes said. 

Howard hesitated for a moment. “Can I trust you?” 

“No,” Barnes answered simply. 

“Right, of course not,” Howard sighed, but Barnes ignored him. He just turned and deftly straddled his motorcycle, before disappearing into the darkness of the road. 

But less than ten minutes later there were sirens as help came, nevertheless.

* * * * *

He used the payphone to call for help as instructed, but his hand shook as he returned the phone to its cradle. He would be punished for this—but he would have been punished, regardless. There were no rewards for success.

He rented a room at the only motel in town. Then he sat on the bed and waited for them to come for him. He was under no illusions that Howard would not double-cross him, but he was so tired of fighting. He thought he might rather surrender to Howard—who may or may not have once been a friend—than to the men he had left behind. 

So he sat and he waited, but there were no sirens, and there were no special forces coming to break down the door. 

There was only Howard, politely knocking the next evening, entirely alone. He did not even have a gun. Barnes knew from the Hydra files that Howard Stark was exceptionally intelligent, but he certainly didn’t seem to be. 

“We’ve got to get you out of here,” Howard told him. “We don’t have much time.” 

“You came back,” he said, frowning back at him. 

Howard seemed taken aback. “Of course,” he said. “I said I would. We can’t run you through official channels, I had to get my wife settled in the hospital first. But now we have to get you out of here. They think it was an accident, but your people are going to be looking for you. And me, once they realize I’m not dead.” 

That was all true, but none of it required Howard to return for him. Howard would have to honestly care what happened to him in order to go to these lengths for him. It did not make sense. But then he supposed his own actions did not make sense, so maybe he shouldn’t judge. He was not supposed to care, either.

But he did. 

“Is she going to be okay?” he asked hesitantly. 

Howard’s expression softened, and he sighed and looked away. “Yeah, yeah, she’s fine, just some bruises, bit of a concussion, left her with a whole team of agents to protect her,” he said. He paused, studying Barnes carefully. "You really don’t want to hurt anyone, do you?” 

“It was my—“ Barnes began. 

“Right, your mission,” Howard interrupted wryly. “Look, we really do need to get out of here.” 

Howard spun around then, turning to open the door to a cherry red convertible. It was not a good car to choose when maintaining a low profile, and he frowned as he moved to sit on the passenger’s side. It made a little more sense why this car was chosen when he saw the dials and buttons scattered across the dashboard like the interior of a plane. 

It wasn’t actually a flying car, but he had read about the advances Stark had made with automobile defenses. He had contracts with the military. He reached out to touch one, and Howard caught his hand. 

“Don’t,” he warned, “it’s dangerous.” 

He stared at where Howard gripped his metal wrist until the other man became uncomfortable, and let him go. Then he returned his attention to the dials. “They are missile controls. You could take out a tank with this car.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, it could, how do you—“ Howard started. 

“Your work is closely watched,” he explained. “I overheard them talking. They were worried they were killing you too soon, that they may lose advancements in your field. But they have high hopes for your son.” 

“What the hell do they know about my son?” Howard snapped, as he pulled out into the road.

“Anthony Edward Stark,” he recited. “Status: monitor and surveil. Recruitment considered.” 

Howard muttered a curse, angrily tightening his grip on the wheel. “Well, he’s not going anywhere without a bodyguard ever again,” he decided. 

Barnes turned to him with a frown. “You worry for him.” 

“Of course I worry for him," he said. "He’s my son.” 

“You should worry for yourself," Barnes told him. "I have failed in my mission. They will send more to take my place.”

“Don’t worry about that," Howard said dismissively, "I can take care of myself.” 

“It took me less than two days to find a way to kill you and make it look like an accident,” Barnes told him. “I was alone. Next time, they’ll send an entire team. You should run.” 

“And then what happens to you?” he asked.

“There’s nothing that can be done about me,” Barnes told him. 

“Steve would come back from the dead just to kill me himself if I let them get their hands on you again,” Howard said. “No, I’m with you till the end.” 

“Till the end,” Barnes echoed. _Till the end of the line_. He turned back to look at Howard. “Steve was our friend.” He was nothing like certain of it, but he watched for a reaction and could tell from Howard’s answering smile that his theory was correct. 

“Yeah,” Howard said. “Best friend I ever had, ‘cept for Peggy. And you were the best friend he ever had. I used to be so jealous of you, if we’re being honest. You came into the picture and then it was like Steve didn’t have any time left for anyone else.” 

Barnes could see flashes of something, a small feisty little blur with his hands raised for a fight. It would not focus. He turned back to watch the road, instead. “Where are you taking me?” 

“Somewhere safe,” Howard said. 

“There is no place safe for me,” Barnes told him. 

“Your mission, it wasn’t just to kill us, was it?” Howard asked. “You said: sanction, extraction.” 

“You had a case in the trunk of your car,” Barnes said. “I was to retrieve it.” 

“How—“ Howard broke off with a muttered curse. “Well, I made the right call holding off on bringing in SHIELD. No way they knew about that without an inside man.” 

“Men,” Barnes corrected. 

“What?” Howard asked. 

“Nearly 38% of SHIELD is comprised of Hydra sleeper agents,” Barnes explained calmly. 

Howard slammed on the breaks, pulling off to the side of the road. He turned to stare at Barnes in shock. “What?” he demanded. 

“38% of SHIELD—“ Barnes began. 

“No, I heard you!” Howard snapped, before leaning forward and resting his forehead on the steering wheel. “How is that possible?” 

“Arnim Zola, an allegedly defected Swiss scientist,” Barnes said, as though he were reading a written report. “He had connections, networks of agents that scattered after the war. He brought them in, but in a way that no one ever knew they were coming from him. Hydra learns quickly from their mistakes.” 

“This is far bigger than I realized,” Howard said. “We’ve got to get you safe, and then I’ve got to get to Peggy.” 

“Agent Carter,” Barnes said softly. 

“Yeah, you remember her?” Howard asked hopefully. 

“Agent Carter, high risk target,” he explained. “Not to engage, but terminate if contact is made.” 

“Right,” Howard said, his lips pursing angrily. “Well, not that I needed the confirmation, but that just proves I can trust her, right?” 

“She worries them,” Barnes admitted. “Very little worries them.” 

“That’s Peggy for you,” Howard said, grinning wryly. “She’ll be thrilled to see you, you know.”

“That seems unlikely,” he replied. 

“Yeah, well, it’s not the best of circumstances, that’s for sure,” Howard admitted. “But we’re going to get this sorted out, and then we’re going to make sure you get everything you need. It’s what Steve would have wanted.” 

Howard didn’t say much more as they finished the drive to his holiday cabin. It was purchased under his name, so easy to track down—but no one knew about the secret lab built underneath the property. They could search the cabin itself all they liked, it wouldn’t get them anything he couldn’t afford for them to find. 

He led Barnes to the hidden entrance to his lab, halfway through the copse of trees behind the house. The lid was caked with dirt and planted with living grass, masking it thoroughly. It was nearly impossible to see, if you didn’t already know where to look. 

Barnes looked warily at the ladder leading into the lab, so against his better judgement Howard went first. He let out a breath when Barnes followed him down. 

“I think I’ve got some spare clothes around here, if you want to get out of that armor,” Howard offered. 

“I’m not wearing armor,” Barnes said. He looked warily around the lab. “That’s my arm.” 

“That’s—“ Howard’s breath caught as he looked at the arm. “That’s impressive.” 

“Yes,” Barnes agreed simply. 

Howard paused for a moment, watching him. “What happened to you?” he asked gently. 

“I think…I think I fell,” Barnes said, his brow furrowing as he concentrated. “A very long way down.” 

“Yes, you fell from a train,” Howard told him. “But how did you survive?” 

“I don’t know,” Barnes said. “I remember being at the bottom. The fall had ripped off most of my left arm. I was in the water. Then they came, and took me away.” 

It was the last real memory he had, though there were a few vague memories both before and after. He could remember back when he was strapped to Zola’s table the first time around, and his panic when he was free and the doctors wanted to find out what had been done to him. He mostly seemed to remember the memories where he was terrified. 

“No one could have survived that fall,” Howard told him, his tone almost strangely offended. “They didn’t search the ravine on my word on that.” He ran his eyes over Barnes, trying to puzzle him out. “I know that Zola experimented on you, but all your tests came back normal after you got rescued. It doesn’t seem possible.” 

“They didn’t run any tests,” Barnes said. He remembered the doctor waiting for him at the other end of a tent, and he remembered turning right back around. It was such a weird, insignificant memory to have retained, but it was vivid to the point he could recall the fast pounding of his heart.

“Of course they did,” Howard said. “That was procedure. Steve dragged you to the medical tent himself, I remember. I was there.” 

“I…I think remember that, too,” Barnes said. He did not remember being dragged there, but he remembered talking his way out again. “I told them they ran the tests.” 

“You told them—what do you mean you told them they had?” he asked in surprise. “Someone would have noticed if no one checked you over.” 

“I didn’t like the doctors. I didn’t trust them,” Barnes said. “But I think…I knew one of the nurses. She got me a note, when I asked.” 

“Jesus,” Howard swore softly. Barnes may not remember the details, but Howard could figure the rest out from there. He’d charmed one of the nurses into getting him a note stating he had a clean bill of health. Barnes would have done anything to keep fighting by Steve’s side, even Howard had known that—someone should have _checked_. “We never knew Zola got that far with you. If we’d only known, we’d of looked—“ 

“Looked for what?” Barnes asked. 

“Looked for you,” Howard explained. 

“You wouldn’t have found me,” Barnes shrugged. “Am I staying here?” 

“For a little while, yeah,” Howard said. “This is the safest place I've got on short notice, and I need to get Maria out of the country. Tony's already back at Oxford, but even that might not be far enough. Then I need to get in touch with Peggy somehow outside normal channels. If what you say about SHIELD is true—“ 

“It is,” Barnes said simply. 

“Then I need to move fast,” Howard said. “It won’t be long until they realize you failed.” 

“They already know,” he warned him. “I’m very efficient. I would have been done and back by last night."

“Shit,” Howard cursed. “Okay, I need to go. But there’s food here, a bed in the corner—“ Howard trailed off as Barnes just stared back at him, looking utterly confused. “For eating, and sleeping.” 

“Oh,” Barnes said, glancing at the cans stacked up in the corner with barely disguised indifference. “Okay.” 

Howard watched him uneasily, suddenly worried how capable he was at handling his own simplest needs. From the sound of it he hadn’t been let out for more than a few days at a time, and probably usually on a short leash. 

He didn’t have time to walk him through everything, he’d have to risk it. Steve would have killed him for abandoning him, but—

“Or you could just put me in there,” Barnes offered. 

Howard turned to find Barnes had stopped in front of the cryostasis unit he’d been attempting to reverse engineer—as well as _improve_. 

“You want me to put you in Cryostasis? We picked that thing up in an abandoned Hydra base, it’s useless,” he said. “I saw their research on it, all the subjects they put in there died. I don’t know why we keep finding them around their bases when they don’t even work.” 

“It’s because they work on me,” Barnes told him. 

“Oh, of course! The serum must…well, no wonder they…” Howard trailed off, looking back at Barnes with a mix of curiosity and pity. “How often do they put you in there?” 

“Any time I’m not on mission,” Barnes said. 

“No wonder you still look so young. You barely look any older than my son,” Howard told him. “Or maybe that’s the serum, too. How long have you been awake?” 

“Three days,” Barnes answered. 

“When was your last mission?” Howard asked. 

“I don’t know,” Barnes said. 

“Well, what was your last mission?” he tried. 

“I don’t know,” he repeated. 

“How do you—“ Howard broke off. “Are they erasing your memories?” 

“Yes,” Barnes said. “Every mission. They didn’t always.” Barnes ran his hand along the glass of stasis chamber. “I told you: they learn quickly from their mistakes.” 

“You tried to escape,” Howard realized. 

“The longer I’m awake, the more I remember,” he said. “The more I remember…the less hold they have on me.” 

“Then why would you want me to put you back in there?” Howard asked. 

“I’m a liability,” Barnes said easily. “They can control me. It is the best option.” 

“You’ve already broken their control,” Howard said. “The fact that I’m alive is proof of that.” 

“I’ve only bent it,” he said. “If they find me, I won’t still be on your side. I won’t have a choice.” 

“They’ve got you programed,” Howard realized. “How?” 

“Words,” Barnes said. “Ten of them. I can’t stop it.” 

“I can’t believe I’m even considering it, but—“ Howard broke off, thinking it might be his only option. He had to get Maria and Tony somewhere safe, and he had to find a way to contact Peggy. She was the only one he could trust with this. 

But Barnes didn’t seem to even know how to take care of himself: he didn’t know how to prepare the food, or probably even sleep. For a deadly assassin, he seemed strangely childlike. Too obedient. It was weirding Howard out. 

He hadn’t known Bucky Barnes all that well, but he’d known him well enough to know obedient was one thing he was not. Dutiful and loyal, sure. Obedient? Not likely. 

In stasis, Barnes would be safe until Howard could figure out how to help him, until he and Peggy could salvage whatever was left of SHIELD and figure out a way to go after the people that had taken Barnes in the first place. He had an experimental power source he’d been building in the back room that should be enough to power the Hydra chamber for a couple years at least, and he shouldn't have to be gone more than two months. 

“It’s okay,” Barnes told him. "I don’t mind.” 

“It isn’t horrible?” Howard asked. 

“Yes, it’s horrible,” Barnes admitted. “But I can’t hurt anyone while I’m frozen, so I’ve come to prefer it over anywhere else.” 

“I am going to help you, Sergeant Barnes,” Howard promised. “If it’s the last thing I do.” 

As it turned out, it would be. 

After he got the Hydra cryostasis chamber up and running and Barnes safely tucked away inside it, he rushed home to pack so he could go pick up Maria from the hospital. 

A Hydra strike team was already waiting for him in the entranceway of his mansion. The leader held a gun to his beautiful wife’s head with one hand, and the briefcase with the serum samples in the other. Howard knew the moment he saw the case that this was the end; he had no real leverage.

Maria was still wearing her hospital gown, and looked like she’d been crying. They’d obviously ripped her right out of the hospital bed, but he had no idea how they could have gotten past the security he’d left to guard her.

Then it hit him: he’d used _SHIELD_ security.

_38% of SHIELD is comprised of Hydra sleeper agents_.

He gave his wife a shaky smile, but Maria had been around this life long enough to know this was only ending one way. She knew it was goodbye. 

At least Tony was already back at school. He wasn’t a target, Barnes had assured him. He’d be safe. 

“Where is the Winter Soldier?” the Hydra leader asked him, his English stilted and heavily accented. 

“I don’t—” Howard started. 

The man didn’t hesitate. He lifted his gun, and fired. 

Maria barely let out a sound, it was so quick. One moment she was standing there, held between two guards, and the next she was crumbling to the floor. 

“No!” he cried, dropping forward and barely managing to catch himself on his hands beside her. Maria stared back at him, her eyes wide and surprised, a tiny bloody hole sitting right between them. 

“Where is the Winter Soldier?” the leader asked again. 

Howard looked up at him, his eyes burning with rage. “Somewhere you’ll never find him,” he snarled. 

“Then he’ll come home to us,” the man decided, and then he shot Howard point blank through the forehead. “He always does.” 

He doesn’t.

* * * * *

“Failsafe activated,” a voice said, “Resuscitation in progress. 87 percent.” 

“Failsafe activated. Resuscitation in progress. 98 percent.” 

“Failsafe complete. Resuscitation complete. 100 percent.” 

Bucky came awake gasping. He reached out to grab the sides of the chamber, breathing heavily as he blinked up at the ceiling in confusion. The lid of the cyrostasis chamber was open, but he was alone. There were no guards to come grab him and pull him towards the chair. 

There was no chair. 

He was in Howard’s lab, he remembered. He sat up cautiously, but Howard was not here, either. The lights were at half power, flickering ever half-minute, and he was so cold. He pushed himself up and out, gracelessly falling to his hands and knees when he was unable to support his own weight. 

There was a letter on the floor beside his hand, and he frowned as he slid it closer. His eyes were having trouble focusing, but if he concentrated hard enough he was able to make out the words: 

_Sergeant Barnes —_

_If you’re getting this, I’m probably dead. Then again, there’s also a slight a chance the power shorted out. Let’s hope for that. Either way, I set up a failsafe to wake you up if the power reserves get too low, but that shouldn’t happen, since I made that generator myself and it should last at least a good two years._

_Which sadly brings us back to me getting myself killed before I could tell anyone I trust about you. In which case, it may not be safe for you to stay here. I left a backpack with some clothes and all the money I had on hand, it should at least be enough to get you somewhere safe._

_Be careful. If I somehow managed to talk my way into heaven, Steve's already going to kick my ass for not helping you more. Don’t give him more reasons._

_Find Peggy. She’ll help._

_Howard._

Barnes didn’t trust his luck that it was a power failure, and that meant help wasn’t coming to get him back on his feet. He pressed his eyes closed, steadily breathing out, hoping that at least Howard’s wife and son were still alright. He should have insisted Stark run faster; he never should have waited in that damn motel for him to come back in the first place. He may not have used his own hands this time, but he'd still managed to complete his mission after all—he was the reason Howard Stark was dead. 

His breath hitched and he wondered for a moment why it was he cared. Howard may have been kinder to him than anyone had for as long as he could remember, but he didn't know him, not really. Not enough to be this upset. 

But there was someone else, someone that would have been so disappointed in this failure. He could hear them like a phantom in the back of his mind, telling him he wasn’t allowed to give in like this. He had to get up and fight. 

He just wasn't sure he could. He had never had to warm himself up on his own, and he wasn’t quite sure how to do it, but the voice wouldn't let up, and after a quick survey of the lab he saw what looked like a bathroom. He shakily pushed himself to his feet, falling to lean against the wall as he moved towards the door. The small bathroom had a toilet and a shower, so he pushed himself forward and leaned up against the tiles of the shower wall before turning the water on full blast. 

It was freezing at first, but he hardly noticed he was already so cold. Gradually, it warmed until it was nearly scalding, and he let it wash over him until he could finally feel his fingers and toes again. Once he felt steadier, he unbuckled his vest and let it drop to the floor, before dragging off his pants and underwear. The clothes had been designed to withstand cryo and could be useful, but he wanted nothing more to do with them. He left them where they were. 

He turned off the water and moved to the bathroom sink. There was a small mirror set on the wall, and a stranger stared back at him from it. He reached up to touch his face, frowning when the reflection did the same. 

He looked wrong. He looked like the Winter Soldier, the Asset, the Weapon. Barnes knelt beside his wet clothes, pulling a knife from a sheaf on the pant leg, and then stood. He lifted a section of hair, and determindedly sawed it off. He kept doing it until his hair was closely cut along the bottom, with a few longer strands falling just above his eyes. 

He looked in the mirror again, and this time the man looking back seemed almost familiar. 

“Sergeant Barnes, I presume,” he said to his reflection.

He returned to the main lab and found the backpack Howard had mentioned in his letter. It held a pair of jeans, socks, boots and a t-shirt. The jeans were a tight fit, but the shirt was oversized and a little loose. There was also a winter coat and a pair of gloves that would keep his arm from catching any attention, and he shrugged them on. He grabbed some of the food Howard had seemed so concerned with, and stuffed it in the bag along with the money. 

He didn’t waste any more time in the lab. He quickly climbed back to the surface, unsurprised to find that Howard’s car was gone. He took off on foot to find the main road out. The secluded cabin and secret lab weren’t near a town, and if he was remembering correctly it had taken over an hour to get there from the small town he had found the motel. 

It only took him an hour and a half on foot to get back. 

The town didn’t look at all like he remembered. He wasn’t sure how so much could have changed in only a couple years, but it was crowded now and had been built up. There were tall buildings just a couple blocks away that looked like they belonged in a city, casting shadows over all the streets, and there were so many people on the sidewalk he had to be careful to avoid getting touched. 

The crowds did work in his favor, at least. No one noticed one more person walking with his head down in the street. 

He slowed his pace as he neared a gas station, and stopped in front of a coin machine holding a stack of newspapers. He leaned down, frowning as he read the date across the top. 

_January 12, 2014_

_2014_

It hadn’t been two years. 

It had been _twenty-three_. 

“Shit,” Bucky whispered, his eyes widening as he looked at the date disbelievingly. He got a flash of memory, a flying car crashing to the ground, and it suddenly made a lot more sense. “Figures.” 

He was remembering now that Stark always went a little too big. His experimental power source had apparently exceeded all expectations.

And now every friend he’d ever had, however tenuously he might recall them, was likely dead. Even if Peggy Carter was still alive, she’d be nearly a hundred years old. 

There was no use in finding her now—he was on his own.


	2. the backpack

* * * * *

**Nine Weeks Later**

* * * * *

“I mean it, Tony, shut it off!” Natasha snapped. “He’s not gonna think it’s funny, it hasn’t been that long for him—“ 

Steve frowned as he stepped into the Avengers common room, wondering what could have caused that particular edge in Natasha’s voice. He was wearing his Captain America uniform, with the hood pulled off, because he had been visiting a Children’s hospital, and he pulled off his shield to set it beside the wall before moving to join them. 

“I’m not going to think what’s funny—“ Steve started, and then all the air collapsed in his lungs and he froze. 

"Bucky?” he whispered in disbelief, staring at the television in awe. 

Because right there on Tony’s big screen, in a bright photo color, was his best friend. It wasn’t an old photo, he could easily see the people next to him in the street tapping away on their smart phones. He was wearing a grey pea coat that reminded him of the blue coat he’d worn in the war, hands stuffed in his pockets as he walked down the street. He was glancing back just in time to be caught at the edge of the picture, head-on. 

He was unmistakable. 

Steve stumbled forward, air finally rushing back in, and dropped down to his knees in front of the television. He lightly ran his fingers across the face of his friend. The eyes that looked back were more wary and guarded than he remembered, but they _were_ the eyes he remembered. 

“How is this possible?” Steve asked.

Tony reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, the amusement from earlier gone. “Cap, hey, it’s not him,” he said gently. “It’s just a meme, you know, people point out something weird or extraordinary and make up all these stories about it, but it’s not really him.” 

“It’s just a fluff story, Steve,” Natasha told him, reaching out to un-pause the screen. The picture disappeared and Steve’s heart stuttered for a moment, and he started to tell her to put it back when a news reporter started speaking. 

“—the latest viral internet sensation,” she said. “The photo was taken by a tourist in New York's Little Italy, and while originally posted as a joke, it has given rise to a number of conspiracy theories, ranging from the idea that Bucky Barnes was recovered from the ice along with Steve Rogers but is in covert status, to the idea that the photo truly captured a ghost.” 

“Little Italy,” Steve whispered. It wasn’t that far. He could be there in the next three minutes if he ran at his top speed. He stood to turn, but both Tony and Natasha quickly moved to block him. 

“Slow down there, soldier,” Natasha said. “Let’s think this through.” 

“Its him,” Steve told her tightly. “I don’t know how. I don’t understand how it’s even possible, but I know it’s him.” 

“Even if it was—“ Natasha said carefully, “do you really think you’re going to find him hanging around the same street? Everyone loves to interview the new viral sensations, if he wanted to be found, he’d have turned up by now.” 

“I don’t care,” Steve said. “I’m going to find him.” 

“Okay,” Tony drawled, “let’s say it is him. War hero, miraculously back from the dead. He could be a superstar. The world loves Bucky Barnes almost as much as they love you. Some of us, even more. I was always partial to him, myself, actually. You were always a little too goody-goody.” 

“Tony,” Steve said through gritted teeth. 

Tony ignored him, continuing on. “But he’s not, right? He hasn’t come forward, he’s hiding. So he doesn’t want the world to know about him. You with me so far?” 

“Yes,” Steve allowed impatiently. “What’s your point?” 

“My point is you’re not going to find him where he was. If anything, that’s the last place you should look, because if he’s smart, he’s going to run. His cover’s blown. The whole city’s in the midst of Bucky Barnes mania, on the lookout for this guy so they can give him a guest spot on _Ellen_.” 

“Bucky is definitely smart,” Steve assured him. 

“Then that's a place to start, because that means he'll already have an exit plan,” Tony told him. “Depending on his resources, probably not an airport, too traceable. Maybe a train—“ 

“No,” Steve broke in softly. “I don’t think he’d take a train.” 

“Right,” Tony allowed. “Then we search the roads.” 

“You’re going to help me?” Steve asked, looking at him in surprise. 

“Of course we’re going to help you,” Natasha answered. “But, Steve, I think we need to manage your expectations.” She looked at him sadly. “You saw Barnes die, remember? There are lots of cases of people having lookalikes. Even if Barnes had survived, that was seventy years ago…” 

“I know it’s crazy,” Steve said, closing his eyes as he took in a deep breath. “But it’s him.” 

“Well as long as you’re keeping an open mind,” Natasha said dryly. 

Steve ignored her, pushing past them. “I’m going to go change out of the uniform, I don’t want to….I don’t want to go as Captain America,” he said, turning to Tony with huge, hopeful eyes, “please find him.” 

“No pressure,” Tony muttered after Steve had gone, before turning to head towards his computer lab. 

“You don’t really think Bucky Barnes is back from the dead?” Natasha asked, as she followed him. 

“No,” Tony admitted. He dropped down at his desk, and all five monitors lit up to greet him without even needing to be touched. “But if we don’t find this kid for Cap, he’s never going to accept that.” 

"You're a good man, Tony Stark," Natasha told him fondly.

"Keep it to yourself," he said gruffly. "I've got a reputation to keep."

It wasn’t hard for Tony to hack into the traffic cameras. They used his software to run them, and he had enough backdoors built in he could view them pretty much whenever he liked. Not that he did, or ever used them to check on Pepper when she was running late, because that would be unethical. 

“If I was a dead World War II veteran trying to avoid the clutches of the social media era, where would I run?” Tony asked himself. 

“You really think he’s going to skip town?” Natasha asked. 

He shrugged. “Most meme celebrities milk it for the full fifteen minutes worth,” he said. “They’ve been trying to track this guy down all day. Maybe he was a tourist, too, and he’s already back in bumfuck Iowa somewhere, or maybe he just doesn’t want to be found. It’s a theory.” 

He pulled up the photo from the news and started up his facial recognition program, putting a net out over the whole city but focussing first on the roads out of town. He frowned as he noticed something out of place. “Oh, no you don’t,” he muttered, spinning his chair to pull at another keyboard. 

“Tony?” Natasha asked. 

“I’m not the only one in the system,” he said tightly. “Someone else hacked in, and they’re running the same exact search.” 

“What?” Steve asked, as he pushed into the lab. “Someone else is looking for him?” 

“No, someone else already found him,” Tony said tightly, following the rival hacker’s trail and using it to pull up a new camera feed. The scenes on all five of his monitors switched over to show the same camera. A young man on a motorcycle was driving alone along the road, wearing a backpack and no helmet. 

Steve stepped up to the one of the monitors, looking at the figure in hope and worry. Bucky turned around to look behind him just as he disappeared out of range of the camera, and he recognized him instantly. “Can you get closer?” he asked. 

“Little busy, I need to keep switching cameras just to stay ahead of him,” Tony snapped. 

“Go the other direction,” Natasha said levelly, narrowing her eyes at the screen. 

“I don’t think you understand the concept, we’re supposed to be tracking _him_ ,” Tony told her snappishly. 

“Do it,” she said, her voice tight and cold. 

Tony glanced at her, but didn’t question her again. He backtracked, going backwards through the cameras to retrace man’s path. “Any idea what we’re looking for—“ He broke off as a black van passed through the next camera, probably just a mile behind their lookalike. 

“He’s being tracked,” Natasha said. 

“What, seriously? Just from that? You sure it's not just your average black van, probably full of stoners—“ He tapped on the keys to get close enough picture to read the plates, but there weren’t any, “—with no plates? Okay, bit suspicious.” 

“Something isn’t right,” Natasha said. “This feels like a set up. A hit.” 

“We need to get there,” Steve said, his voice threaded through with a quiet rage the others had never heard before. “Right now.” 

“We’ll never beat them to him,” she said. “Even in the Quinjet.” 

“I will,” Tony told them, already getting to his feet. 

“Tony,” Steve said, his voice catching. “Please hurry. We’ll be right behind you.” 

Tony took off for his balcony, snatching the bracelets for his latest suit off the bar as he went. He slapped them on and called the suit to them. It rushed out to spread out to cover him even as he kept moving towards the doors, and by the time he was outside all he had to do was take off flying. 

“Jarvis, map a course to that last camera’s coordinates,” Tony said. 

“Already took the liberty of doing so, sir,” Jarvis replied. 

“Of course you did,” Tony said. “So I assume you also have the footage ready to go for me?” 

“Of course, sir,” Jarvis replied, and a small square of the camera footage appeared in the corner of Tony’s display. The kid—hell, he’d just call him Bucky—was keeping ahead of the van, but only barely. Despite his bravado, Tony wasn’t sure he was going to make it there in time. 

“Sir, they’re entering a stretch of road without cameras,” Jarvis advised. “We are going to lose visual in 5 seconds.” 

The footage snapped out of existence, and Tony pushed himself further. “Can you get a visual with our cameras yet?” he asked. Another display appeared, this one showing a far off strip of road. He could just barely make out the tiny black square that was the van. He couldn’t see Bucky at all. “Increase magnification.” 

“Magnification is at maximum,” Jarvis advised.

Tony muttered a curse, but he was going fast enough that it was only a few more seconds before he had a solid visual. Bucky was weaving between the lanes, keeping one eye behind him. He knew he was being followed. “How long until we’re within weapons range?” he asked. 

“One minute," Jarvis advised. 

“Nope, not good enough,” Tony said. With the magnification on his display he could now make out the van well enough to see the figures inside of it, and the driver was leaning out the window, holding a gun. “Jarvis, options.” 

“This model does not have long range projectiles,” Jarvis reminded him. “You have been creating your newest suits to be more defensive.” 

Right, he forgot. He was mostly, sort of, maybe retired, and he’d started trying to make defensive peace-keeping armor suits instead of the war machines he’d come up with before. It was a nice idea, but it left him helpless to do anything when the driver fired the gun. 

Bucky lost control of his motorcycle at the shot, and it went skidding along the road. “Shit,” Tony cursed, putting in another burst of speed, expecting to watch the poor kid get run down. 

That wasn’t what happened. 

One minute he was wiping out on the bike, and the next he was rolling in the opposite direction and reaching out with one hand to halt his slide. He stood up then, instead of running like someone sane, and stayed right in the path of the van.

“Tony, what’s going on?” Steve demanded anxiously. “Do you have him?” 

Tony opened his mouth, but couldn’t think of a way to explain, and then Bucky was moving. He was running _towards_ the car, then pushing up into a vaulting leap, and flipping onto the roof before it could crush him. Tony watched in disbelief as Bucky spun so he was near the windshield, and then crashed one arm straight through the glass, reaching down to grip the steering wheel and drag it hard to the right. 

“No, no, not good,” Tony cursed. 

Because there was no road to the right. 

This stretch of road had one flimsy little guardrail blocking what had to be a fifty foot drop. And at that speed, the van went right through it like it was made of paper. 

“Tony?” Steve cried anxiously in his ear. 

“We are now within weapons range,” Jarvis informed him. 

“Little late,” Tony snapped. He knew he wasn’t going to reach Bucky before he hit the bottom, but thankfully Bucky had plans of his own. 

He nimbly got to his feet on the roof of the airborne van, before spinning to run and jump straight off the back of it towards the road. He just barely made it, landing in a controlled roll right in the middle of the street. 

“Holy shit,” Tony cried. 

Bucky froze at the voice, before spinning to look up and directly at him, and Tony realized he maybe should have waited and then announced himself a little better. He quickly held out his hands. “Hey, I come in peace—“ he started. 

He barely managed to finish speaking before Bucky threw something towards him so fast he couldn’t even track it. The lights on his display flickered out, and there was a spark of electricity as the powered joints in his suit began to lock up. He glanced down and saw a small knife embedded in the dead center of his arc reactor. 

Then his repulsers shut down. 

He had almost no control as his power reserves flickered nearly out of existence, but he put everything he had into a controlled dive straight towards Bucky, who was already running back down the road towards his bike. He reached out as he was falling, and just managed to grab the back of Bucky’s backpack as he hit the ground.

Bucky twisted instantly, loosing the strap to slip free of the pack, but then he spun around to grab one of the backpack straps before it was entirely in Tony’s hands. 

In the midst of their weird backpack tug-of-war, Tony finally got his first good look at him. 

He definitely looked like Bucky Barnes come back to life, but quite in contrast to his brutal efficiency, his eyes looked wide and panicked. He was wearing a vintage concert shirt for _The Doors_ , layered with a blue hoodie, and that grey pea coat. The only thing that looked out of place were the thick black gloves he was wearing, but he still looked more like a lost grad student than someone that had just single-handedly taken out an entire van of armed thugs and Iron Man—all in about two minutes flat. 

“Let go,” Bucky said, still holding his end of the backpack, his voice clear but quiet. 

Tony frowned when he noticed the blood spreading out along the edge of his hoodie, up around his shoulder. “Did you get shot?” he asked incredulously. His actions were hard enough to believe without him having been injured the entire time. 

Barnes didn't answer him, he just pulled suddenly, jerking hard on the backpack strap he held onto. Tony barely managed to keep his end of it in his hands, but then there was a ripping sound and Barnes’ dropped backwards to land on his backside as the strap he held came off in his hands. He glanced back at the backpack in Tony’s hand one final time, then with a sound of frustration he gracefully pushed back to his feet and took off running towards his fallen bike.

With the suit’s power source crippled, the heavy weight of moving manually meant he would never be able to catch him. He pushed up his face plate and activated his auxiliary comm, as Barnes lifted up his bike and hopped onto at the same time. 

"He's running," he snapped into comms. "What's your ETA?"

"Still two minutes out," Natasha said tightly, at the same time Steve shouted, “Where have you been?” 

“Jarvis is offline,” Tony explained tightly. “Had to activate the back up comm.” 

“You've got to follow him, Tony,” Steve said. “Don't lose him.”

“Kid just took out my state of the art suit with a fucking pocket knife, Cap," Tony said. "I'm afraid I’m a little outmatched at the moment."

There was a heavy pause. "What happened to the van?” Steve asked.

"Your buddy happened to the van, so it’s pretty well taken care of,” he said, before letting out a breath. “I’m starting to think you were right and we were wrong. I thought we'd find out he's Barnes' great great grand cousin or something, and we'd all have a good laugh. Maybe grab a beer. But, Steve…he can do things I’ve only ever seen you do.” 

“Can you track him at all?” Steve asked desperately. 

“Sorry, Cap,” Tony said, “Suit’s too damaged.” 

“Wait, were you serious about the pocket knife?” Natasha asked suddenly. 

“Yep,” Tony said. “I’d like to think it was a lucky shot, but I’m pretty sure it took him about point three seconds to pinpoint the weak spot on my suit, and he’s got aim like I’ve only ever seen from Hawkeye.” 

“How many times have I told you you shouldn’t leave your _power source_ exposed—“ Natasha started. 

“Yeah, okay, so it’s a design flaw!” Tony snapped. “Christ, I am never living this down. The reactor just makes it look so cool. Maybe I can build a decoy light.” 

Tony glanced up as the Quinjet appeared hovering in the air just above him. He pushed himself up tiredly. Without power the suit was bulky and too slow, and he was pretty sure the reactor was a goner. 

Natasha stopped in front of him, crossing her arms as she examined the damage to his suit, and the blade sticking out of it. “That’s a little bigger than a pocket knife,” she said wryly. She reached out for it, but he batted her hand away. 

“Dramatic license,” Tony said, “and leave it in. It’s conductive. Not by much, but it’s keeping this thing running on its last leg. Remove it and it’s gonna be hell to pry off this suit manually.” 

Steve had stepped past him after one cursory glance to make sure Tony was still on his feet, and he was looking down the road, his profile all manly and tragic. He hadn’t bothered to get back in his Captain America suit, and he looked weirdly out of place in khakis and a blue button up shirt. Tony sighed. “He looked fine,” he said helpfully. “I mean, aside from the gunshot.” 

Steve whipped around to look at him. “He got shot?” he asked in panic, before turning back to look again down the road. 

“Only a little, didn’t seem to bother him,” Tony promised. “Take it from me, he can take care of himself. I’ve gone up against entire militias, no problem. Not a scratch. He crippled me before I even knew what was happening. If he’d actually wanted me dead, we probably wouldn’t be having this conversation.” 

Steve pursed his lips anxiously. “I have to find him.” 

“Look, we’ve got a van of armed thugs sitting at the bottom of that cliff, we can’t just go chasing after your friend and leave them,” Tony said. “Not to mention we already went after him blind once, and we need to face up to the fact that we have no idea what this guy is capable of. And sorry to say, but we still don’t know who he is. Just because he’s dangerous doesn’t mean he’s Barnes. He could be…” Tony trailed off, eyes narrowing as he caught sight of the backpack he had managed to snag from the kid. There was a blueprint drawn along one side of the fabric with black permanent marker. He swallowed hard. “That’s my backpack.” 

“What?” Steve asked, caught off guard enough that his irritation gave way to confusion. 

Tony reached forward, grabbing it up off the pavement, and examining the hand-drawn design. “I used to get ideas for projects and I’d draw them anywhere I could, this was my initial sketch for Dum-E. It’s from my first year at college.” 

“Tony,” Steve began with a frown, “I thought you took that from Bucky. I remember he was wearing it on the camera footage.” 

“I did, but this is mine,” he insisted, as he unzipped it, “Here. Have a look.” 

Natasha was closer, and caught it when he thrust it towards them. She peeked in at the tag. Someone had written across the inside in red pen: _Property of Tony Stark_. “Okay,” she said, her voice tinged with disbelief. “You make a convincing argument.” 

Steve came to look over her shoulder, reading the inscription before looking in at the contents. There was about five hundred dollars in cash, some canned fruit, a new brown leather journal, and a very old red leather journal with a black star on the front. It wasn’t much for apparently being all Bucky had. 

“This is getting weirder and weirder,” Natasha said, handing back the pack to Tony. She glanced back towards the skid marks leading right off the drop on the other side of the road. “But we’ll have to wait to puzzle it out, we need to secure that van.” 

“The drop’s a ways down, we’d better take the Quinjet,” Tony said. 

Natasha nodded and headed back in, but Steve stayed where he was, looking down the road. “Did he say anything?” Steve asked quietly. 

“He wanted the backpack,” Tony offered, wondering how much he should say. “And he looked scared. He knows he’s being hunted. Maybe even why.” 

“I need to find him first, Tony,” Steve said, glancing back at him. “I can’t fail him again.” 

“We’re going to find him,” Tony promised, because he’d always been reckless. “But we need to find out why they’re after him first.” 

Steve nodded sharply, and then slipped back into the jet. Tony followed stiffly, activating the suit’s release the moment the hatch closed behind them. The suit used the last of the power to piece itself apart, and he stepped out of it. He grabbed one of his phones out of the cubby, and turned it on. “Jarvis, you there?” he asked. 

“Sir, I’m afraid I may have malfunctioned,” Jarvis said. 

“Yeah, suit failed,” he said. “Did you get everything backed up? Do you have the footage?” 

“I’m sorry, sir,” Jarvis said. “I’m afraid I was not able to save the recordings.” 

Tony wasn’t sure if that was a blessing or not. Bucky’s attack had been swift and brutal, and probably not something Steve needed to see at the moment. Then again, it had also been pretty damn cool, and Tony wouldn’t have minded watching it again just so he could take notes. 

Natasha landed them at the bottom of the ravine flawlessly, and they exited the Quinjet together. They found the first body about three feet away. Natasha knelt down beside him with a frown, and reached out for a pulse. She pulled her hand away with a shake of her head, and then looked up at them in worry. 

“These aren’t mercenaries, Steve,” she said, and Steve froze when he heard the shaky uncertainty in her voice. It wasn’t that Natasha was never uncertain, but she never let it show. “I recognize him. He’s with the SHIELD Strike team.” 

Steve stared at her with disbelief. “The team Fury wanted us to sign on for?” he asked. She nodded slightly as she lifted herself back to her feet. “Why would SHIELD be after Bucky?” 

“Why don’t you ask him?” Tony said, nodding towards the van. The driver had just managed to force open the door, and had fallen out beside the van on his knees. 

Steve’s eyes narrowed as he stalked over to him. He twisted his hand in the man’s collar, and lifted him up to push him back against the overturned van. “Why are you after Bucky?” he snarled. 

The man laughed. Half of his face was streaked with blood, but Steve still recognized him as the leader of Strike: Brock Rumlow. He could feel his heart pounding out of his chest at the thought that SHIELD knew about Bucky, maybe all along. 

“What, you think that’s your friend?” Rumlow asked, coughing hard enough specks of blood started to dot his lips. “Oh, Rogers. You got no idea who you’re dealing with.” 

“You’re going to—“ Steve started, breaking off as a gunshot sounded from beside him. Rumlow went limp in his arms, a bloody hole blasted through his temple, and Steve let him go and stumbled back. 

As he did, he noticed that Rumlow had a knife in his hand. He turned back to see Natasha standing with the gun still raised. 

“He was going to stab you,” she said unapologetically, before lowering her gun. "You were distracted."

Steve looked back at Rumlow before leaning forward to see if there were any other survivors that might talk, but both the men in the backseat were dead from the crash. He let out an angry yell and punched the van, his fist dented it until it nearly broke.

“Why would SHIELD be trying to kill him?” he demanded. “It doesn’t make any sense. Bucky and I practically worked for the organization that Shield built itself on.” 

“They weren’t trying to kill him,” Natasha called. “I think they were shooting at him just to try and slow him down. This was a retrieval mission.” 

Steve frowned, following the sound of Natasha’s voice to the other side of the van. She’d pried open the back doors. Steve paled as he stared inside. “Is that what I think it is?” he asked tightly, rage simmering beneath his skin. 

“It’s a cage,” Natasha said quietly. 

It wasn’t just any cage. It was a reinforced glass case just barely large enough for someone of Bucky’s size. There were steel restraints inside of it at all four corners, and the one in the upper left for some reason was twice as thick as the rest. Steve turned to glare at Natasha. “Did you know about this?” he demanded. 

“No,” she said, starting to turn away. 

“Did you know about Bucky?” Steve asked, grabbing her wrist to tug her back. 

“No,” she said firmly. She didn’t fight his grip, even though Steve knew even his strength wouldn’t save him if she wanted to get out of it. “I would have told you.” 

“And I’m supposed to trust you?” he asked quietly. 

“I’m here, aren't I?” she asked. “I’m here, with you. I’m not with them.” 

Steve let her go, falling back against the van and lowering his head. “You’re right, I’m sorry,” he said. “But SHIELD—“ 

“They didn’t tell me,” she said. “Whatever they’re doing, they’re keeping me out of the loop. Probably because of my connection to you.” 

“Well don't look at me. They never tell me anything,” Tony volunteered. “I do routinely hack them, but I would definitely remember reading about a plan to kidnap Bucky Barnes.” 

“Why would they even be after Bucky in the first place?” Steve asked. “If they wanted to recruit him, why not come to me?” 

“I think the fact that they couldn't catch him answers that,” Tony said, as he came to rejoin them. “He's obviously enhanced. That gunshot seemed to bother him about as much as a bee sting, and the amount of force that would have been required to get that knife through the casing on my arc reactor is sort of staggering. Not to mention he used his hand like the literal interpretation of a hand-brake, and didn’t even flinch.” 

Steve glanced away, looking down towards the horizon. “Bucky was Zola’s prisoner, back during the war,” he said quietly. “He did something to him. They never found anything wrong, I mean, he didn’t seem any different physically, but—“ 

“But Zola was Hydra’s best scientist,” Tony finished. “He’d been working to replicate the super serum his entire career.” 

“What if he succeeded?” Steve asked, glancing back at Tony with wide, hurt eyes. “Bucky survived that fall. He survived, and I just left him there. We never even looked.”

“Steve, you couldn’t have known,” Natasha said softly. “It’s not your fault.”

“Well, if that’s what happened, he’s the best looking ninety year old I’ve ever seen,” Tony decided, glancing over at Cap. “I think he looks even younger than you.”

“Bucky was twenty-seven when he—when he fell,” Steve said, swallowing hard. “He looks almost exactly the same. Maybe a year older? Two at the most.” 

“Could the serum do that?” Tony asked.

“I don’t know,” Steve said, frowning. “It’s supposed to slow aging, not stop it entirely. It’s been seventy years. It doesn’t seem possible.” 

“Guys, I'm sorry, but we can’t stay here. SHIELD is going to come looking for them,” Natasha said, glancing at Steve apologetically. “We need to go off grid until we know what’s going on. We can’t go home.” 

“I may have a place we can lay low,” Tony offered. 

“Where?” Steve asked. 

Tony shrugged off the backpack and let it dangle from one of his hands. “The last place I had this.”


	3. the book

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I'm pretty sure I won't be able to keep up this updating schedule, but for the moment at least this story is kind of writing itself. Sometimes I worry I’m not so much writing as I am transcribing the voices in my head.

* * * * *

**Five Weeks Earlier**

* * * * *

This world he’d awoken to was different, but not by as much as he expected.

Hydra’s technology had always been decades ahead of the general public, so it only took him about five minutes to learn how to use a new MacBook. He’d lifted it from someone at a coffee shop, and he wasn’t proud of it, but he’d nearly spent all the money that Howard had left him. He’d needed clothes to blend in, and once he’d started eating again, he realized just how much food he actually needed to keep himself in top form. 

He’d spent so many years being pumped full of stimulants and nutritional supplements that food was a revelation. It was also _expensive_. Things he felt he should be able to afford with some pocket change took five or ten dollar bills. 

He'd been squatting in a condemned building until he could get himself some identification, so at least he wasn’t paying rent. He had some Hydra contacts rattling around the back of his mind, a list of names and addresses that he could call up within his mind like a newsreel; some of them might even still be alive, still in the business. 

But even if he got them to make him a new identity, he’d have to kill them right after, and he didn’t…he didn’t want to do that anymore. 

So instead he bought canned goods at a small corner shop and second hand t-shirts and jeans that allowed him to disappear into the crowds far better than his buckled and black gear of the decades past.

He had no real plan beyond surviving for the first few weeks, but after awhile it began to sink in that he was relatively safe. The Winter Soldier had been MIA for twenty-three years, no one was still actively looking for him. 

So he went looking for one of them.

He wasn’t after revenge. He wasn’t sure if it was Bucky or if it was the Winter Solider in him, but he saw no point in getting angry about what had been done to him. It wasn’t as though it could be undone. 

He had a far more practical reason for wanting to track down his last handler: he wanted the book. 

And he knew Karpov would still have the book because he knew Karpov better than anyone. 

He’d spent nearly a decade waking up to him for mission after mission, and where there was time in-between for Karpov for the Winter Soldier there had been nothing else. There had only been the missions, and Karpov, and the oblivion that came at the end. 

He stayed awake longer with Karpov than any of the others, almost two weeks once, working at his side constantly, watching him and cataloguing weaknesses out of habit. Karpov had paid him no more mind than someone might a pet. He did not worry about giving intel out in front of him, he did not worry about telling him all his secrets, because they’d always taken the memories back anyway, stripping them away before an exit plan could ever fully form. 

But he was remembering now.

Karpov had an exit plan of his own. He’d known exactly who he was working for, and when the Winter Solider—who had been under his care—went missing, he would have taken the book and run before they could execute him for his failure. If he had managed to escape with his life, he would still be hiding, and nearly impossible to find if not for one single, stray memory. 

It was strange because some memories were so hazy, like one of two young boys—he thought he might be one of them, but wasn’t sure—sitting on the steps in a muted Brooklyn street, but then other memories were almost too clear. He wasn't sure what they’d done to him, but his recall for detail now that he wasn’t getting his mind torn apart every other day was almost disorienting in its clarity.

It was a sad kind of irony that he kept remembering all the things he'd rather forget, while most of his life as James Barnes remained out of his reach. Still, the memories had their uses. 

For instance: he knew Karpov had been funneling funds into an offshore account for years in case he ever needed to run. Karpov hadn’t hidden this from him. Why would he? What could the Winter Soldier have done? 

And now he only needed to close his eyes and he could see the account numbers written across a screen, clear as though they were still right in front of him. It was small work from there to hack into the account and trace the payments on a little suburban house in Cleveland. 

He used the last of his money to buy bus tickets, and set off to find him. The bus took longer than stealing a car would have, but it had the benefit of helping him keep a low profile. He wanted to stay as much off the radar as he could. He had no idea what Hydra had been up to in the years he’d slept, or if Shield was theirs now too. For all he knew, they were running everything. He couldn’t risk the attention. 

Maybe he was being overly cautious, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He watched Karpov for two days after he arrived in Cleveland, just to be sure there wouldn’t be any surprises. 

Karpov didn’t leave the house. He just pulled back the curtains, once or twice a day, to look out. He had no visitors. He had no pet. The neighbors did not seem concerned with him one way or another. The Winter Soldier part of his mind assured him: this was not a man that would be missed. 

The weather there was cold and he’d bought a knit cap, pulled it down low by his eyes, and tilted the collar of his pea coat up. It was enough of a disguise and this area was quiet enough that he simply walked right up the front driveway. He made quick work of Karpov’s deadbolt with a swift punch of his metal knuckles, and the door swung open. 

Karpov leapt up from a table by the door, rushing forward to try and confront him. He obviously did not recognize him, or he would have been running the other way. 

But by the time he realized exactly who he was, it was already too late. 

His eyes widened and he whispered, “Soldat—“ 

Bucky did not give him the chance to speak another single word. He struck out with his metal hand, catching his throat and crushing his larynx with one quick and brutal squeeze. He didn’t enjoy it. Karpov had actually treated him better than most, as sorry of a standard as that was. In his own way, Karpov had been almost fond of him. He pushed Karpov further in the house, following him in and kicking the door shut behind them before the neighbors could see a thing. 

He released his grip, and Karpov fell to the ground gasping and clutching at his throat. It was terrible way to kill someone, but Bucky could not take the risk that Karpov would try to activate him. He would have had those damn words memorized, even now. 

Karpov started up at him, gasping as he choked, unable to speak. He was watching him with something like awe, and maybe even relief. 

Bucky knelt down beside him with a frown. “Sorry,” he whispered, and then swiftly broke his neck, putting him out of his misery with swifter kindness than had ever been visited on him by them. 

He let out a single breath, then calmly got to his feet, stepping over the body so he could begin to search the house. He found the book in the basement, and collapsed to the floor, just holding it. He stared at the innocuous little star on the front until his vision blurred, and he realized his hands were shaking. 

He wanted to throw it at the wall. He wanted to tear out the pages one by one and shred them to tiny pieces. He wanted to burn it. 

He forced himself back to his feet and put it in his backpack, instead. 

Because even he didn’t know what was in that book, or the full extent of what had been done to him. Ignoring it wouldn’t make it go away. If that had been the plan, he wouldn’t have bothered to come here in the first place. 

Bucky searched the rest of the house to be thorough, and took some food and a roll of hundred dollar bills he’d found beneath the floorboards. 

He found mission reports as well, stacks of old Hydra files, but it was all too out of date now to do him any good. He burned them in a trashcan in the basement, and then went straight out the front door and back towards the bus station. 

He probably should have used Karpov’s money to get out of the country, to head out somewhere he could make a life for himself. It would have been the smart, cautious move. 

But something was itching under his skin, calling him back, and when he made it to the bus station, the ticket he bought was for New York.

* * * * *

**Present**

* * * * *

It was all because of that damn picture.

Of all the things to screw him over, he got caught out by some clueless tourist. It wasn’t even intentional on their part, because they had no idea at all that it was really him. 

But he’d known as soon as he saw his picture plastered everywhere that they’d be coming for him. People thought it was all in good fun because he was so long dead, but Hydra knew he wasn’t and they wouldn’t be wasting any time. 

He’d had his backpack with him when he first saw it on the news, so he didn’t even head back to the abandoned building he’d set up in. He’d just hot-wired a motorcycle from a nearby parking lot and started driving without looking back. It just wasn’t fast enough. 

He’d felt the bullet go in and instinct took over. He didn’t even think it was all the Winter Soldier. 

After all, Sergeant Barnes had been a soldier first.

He maybe could have salvaged the situation and gotten away clean if it hadn’t been for Iron Man—because even he had caught up on current events enough to know exactly who that was. 

It was _Howard’s son_. 

And he’d gotten his bag, he’d gotten _the book_ , but Bucky couldn’t hurt Howard’s son. It was bad enough he’d knocked him out of the sky before he’d even know what he was doing, he couldn’t actively try to kill him. He owed Howard everything. He owed him a debt. 

And if he couldn’t fight Howard’s son, then flight it was. He’d run.

He’d left the book and he’d _run_ , and he didn’t know how he was going to get it back. The papers all said that Tony Stark was a hero, a good man, a genius: but Hydra had been planning to recruit him, and that was exactly how they hid. He couldn’t afford to trust him, so he’d just have to make sure he got far enough away that Iron Man couldn’t ever use that book on him. 

He made it as far as Washington D.C. 

His training had taught the Winter Soldier to ignore pain, but after the adrenaline ran out he wasn’t the Winter Soldier anymore, not really. So his shoulder was hurting like a son of a bitch, and he knew he had lost too much blood to keep driving without stopping. The bullet hadn’t made it all the way out, so that was a problem, too. 

He ditched the bike in a small convenience store parking lot and started down the street, tugging his pea coat tightly around him to hide the blood. He’d lost what few resources he actually had, and he wasn’t sure where to go now. There were Hydra bases littered through the back of his mind like a built-in map, but even though they would have what he needed it was too risky in his condition. If the men there knew how to activate him, he’d have no choice but to surrender. 

He carefully made his way down the street, grateful that the night—or early morning?—meant that the streets were almost eerily empty.

He kept an eye out for any rundown building he might be able to lay low in, but this part of town was a little too nice to have convenient places for one to dig out bullets from their back, and he wasn't having much luck.

Then he saw the D.C. Vet Center. 

And technically, he _was_ a veteran.

Bucky carefully went up the steps, using his metal arm to hold the other in place. His shoulder was throbbing, but pain was nothing new. He was more worried about the damage that bullet could do, if he didn’t get it out. He knew he healed fast, and it wouldn’t be long before his body started trying to heal around it.

Business hours for the center were over, but something finally went right, because someone had forgotten to lock the door. He cautiously slipped inside, gently shutting the doors behind him. He half-heartedly looked around a little for a first aid kit, but couldn’t find anything, so he just headed into the bathroom instead. He locked the door behind him and stripped out of his jackets and gloves, before tugging off his shirt. 

A glance in the mirror at the back of his shoulder showed the wound to be bad enough, but not as bad as it could be. He braced himself and the twisted to get his metal fingers pressing down on either side of it, putting enough pressure on it that he wouldn’t accidentally push the bullet further in. Then he reached into the wound with his fingers and felt around until he was able to grip the slippery bullet and pull it out. 

He collapsed to his knees when he finally tugged it free, surging forward to throw up in the toilet as he started to shake. He dropped the bullet inside the toilet bowl too, and then flushed it all down. The wound was aggravated now, and he’d hardly kept it sterile, but he knew from his days with Hydra that he didn’t really get infections, so he wasn’t overly worried. 

He had more pressing concerns—such as where he was going to lay low until he healed enough that he would be able to properly defend himself again. 

He knew he couldn’t stay here. They would be opening in a few hours, and he’d need to be gone before then. He leaned forward and grabbed his bloodied hoodie, ripping off one of the sleeves and then tying it around his shoulder like a bandage. He tossed the remains in of the hoodie in the trash, and dressed back in his shirt and pea coat.

With the bloody hoodie gone, and the black t-shirt disguising the stains, he looked deceptively well dressed. Even if he could find a homeless shelter still open, he wouldn’t be able to go there. He’d stand out too much. That damn picture was still running on the news. He really needed to get either a hat or some hair dye. 

Bucky jerked back when he heard someone pounding on the door, instinctively reaching for a knife that was no longer there. He’d used it to take down Iron Man, and the reminder that he was weaponless, on top of everything else, left him weirdly drained. 

“Hey, someone in there?” 

Bucky frowned at the voice, which sounded annoyed but level, more like someone overworked and exasperated than someone that might be a threat. He knew the next step would probably be them calling the police, so he let out a breath and then unlocked the door, pulling it open. 

A young black man glared in at him, his eyes narrowing. “Hey, you can’t be in here,” he said with a frown, his eyes running briefly over the bloodied hoodie he’d tossed in the trash. He didn’t let his gaze linger, but Bucky knew he’d cataloged it away for future reference. He knew another soldier when he saw one. 

“Sorry,” Bucky said, trying to smile disarmingly. Judging by the narrowing of the other man’s eyes, he was pretty sure he didn’t pull it off. “I just…got a bit sick, lost track of time. Is the place closed up already?” 

“Yeah,” he said dryly. “For about four hours now.” 

Bucky anxiously tapped the fingers of his left hand against his leg, and the man looked down briefly. Bucky hadn’t put the gloves back on, because they were torn and ruined from his adventures on the road, so the metal fingers were exposed. 

“You lose it in the war?” he asked, casual, not probing, as he nodded towards his metal hand. 

“Yeah,” Bucky said warily, and it was weird, not having to lie. 

The man nodded then, as though coming to some sort of decision, and looked up to meet his eyes. Bucky watched the recognition began to appear in his face with worry. 

“Hey, has anyone ever told you that you look a hell of a lot like Bucky Barnes?” he asked, his eyes going wide. 

“It’s come up once or twice,” Bucky said wryly, searching for a cover. Only one name came to mind. “Name’s Howard, though.” 

“Sam Wilson,” Sam said, before pursing his lips. “Look, man, you can’t stay here—” 

“Yeah, I was just—“ Bucky started quickly.

“—so I guess you’d better come home with me,” he finished. 

Bucky stared at him, nonplussed. “You always invite strange men home with you?” he asked. 

Sam snorted. “Not that you’re not sort of ridiculously good looking, but I don’t swing that way,” he said. “Your virtue is safe with me.” 

Bucky ducked his head, giving the most sadly beautiful smile that Sam had ever seen. “I don't think I have any virtue left.” 

Sam knew he shouldn’t treat a six foot veteran like one might a lost puppy, that he definitely shouldn’t be trying to bundle him up and take him home, but he couldn’t stop the grip that smile got on his heart. Maybe it was the way he looked a little like Riley. Maybe it was just because he’d been there himself. 

“I’m just a block away, got a spare room that’s just sitting there collecting dust,” Sam offered. “All I ask is that in the morning, you come with me to my group.” 

It wasn’t much to ask, but Bucky knew he wouldn’t do it. He didn’t want to deceive someone just trying to help, but he didn’t have anywhere else to go, either. “I think I can manage that,” he lied, smiling brightly.

The smile seemed to catch Sam off guard, and he paused for a moment before motioning him ahead. “Come on, then.” 

Sam led him to his place in silence, and Bucky kept his right arm held against his chest. The shoulder was throbbing, and the pain was radiating out to the rest of his arm. It would probably be healed over enough by morning, but he was vulnerable until then. Sam seemed honest, but trust was one of the things Hydra had first burned out of him.

So Bucky didn’t mean to, but he kept cataloguing the various ways he could take Sam down during their walk. Even injured, he knew the man wouldn’t give him too much trouble. He recalled the feel of Karpov’s throat beneath his hand, the way he’d crushed it as easily as a tin can, and swallowed shakily. 

This was a bad idea. Not for him, but for Sam. Bucky wasn’t safe. 

“Right here,” Sam said, as he hopped up the steps of a neat little house and opened the door. “Hey, you want a coffee?” 

“No, thank you,” Bucky said, as he warily stepped inside. He shut the door behind them as Sam disappeared into a small kitchen, and glanced towards the living room. There were photos up on a thin wooden shelf, two men smiling in uniform, a happy family, a group of children. This place looked like a home, and Bucky crossed his arms over his chest, trying not to focus on how foreign it felt. 

When he glanced back up, Sam was leaning against the doorway to the kitchen, his own arms crossed to mirror his stance. “I saw that picture on the news,” he said calmly. “That was you, right? The Bucky Barnes lookalike?” 

“Yeah,” Bucky said. That certainly made more sense than being Bucky Barnes, anyway. “That picture was just my bad luck.” 

“Because you’re running from something,” Sam said, insightful and calm. 

“Everybody’s running from something,” Bucky said. 

“Yeah, but most of us aren’t trying to outrun bullets,” he said. 

Bucky grimaced. “Put that together, huh? And you still took me home with you?” he asked. “You should really be more careful. That was reckless.” 

“Hey, I can take care of myself,” Sam said. “I’m tougher than I look.” 

“Yeah?” Bucky snorted. “Well, so I am.” 

“Okay then, tough guy,” Sam said, pushing himself up straight. “You gonna tell me what’s so bad it’s got you running from it?” 

“It’s better if you don’t know. It’s bad enough I even came here…” he trailed off for a moment, shaking his head. “I’m not safe to be around. I’m dangerous, and I—” 

Sam didn’t look shocked, or angry, or ask him to leave, at the admission that he knew the other man had already figured out for himself. He just watched him calmly. “When I first got back, I went to visit my sister,” he said. “Started yelling in my sleep, so my six year old nephew tried to wake me up. I threw him to the floor. I was so goddamn lucky he didn’t get hurt. Not even a scratch. He was fine,” he said, and paused for a moment. “But I wasn’t.” 

Sam stepped closer, his eyes knowing and sad. “I knew what could have happened, how wrong that could have gone,” he said. “They make us dangerous, then we’re supposed to come back home like nothing’s changed. Of course you’re not safe. Neither am I.” 

“At least you knew what you were fighting for,” Bucky said gravely. “You knew what side of the war you were on.”

"Not always," Sam admitted softly. "It's never that simple."

Bucky froze at that, remembering suddenly all the countless German soldiers he had spied on through a rifle scope—not as the Winter Soldier, but as Bucky Barnes. He had watched a man for almost an hour once, a voice at his side demanding to know if he had the shot yet, but the soldier had been laughing and telling jokes and smiling like a person and Bucky almost hadn’t been able to pull the trigger. 

But of course he’d done it in the end.

He’d killed far more men for his country than he ever had for Hydra. Hydra had only ever pulled him out of the deep freeze for special occasions—the high profile, hard to get targets—a handful of times each decade. 

“No, I guess it’s not,” he agreed. 

“What made you join up in the first place?” Sam asked lightly. 

“I didn’t,” Bucky answered automatically, not realizing he even knew the answer until he spoke it out loud. “I think…I mean, I was drafted.” 

“Drafted,” Sam echoed flatly, one eyebrow raised. “You were drafted.” 

Bucky shrugged. “Probably woulda gone anyway eventually, there was…there was someone that used to believe in me, it made me want to do the right things.” 

Sam just stared at him for a long moment, considering. “You don’t just look like Bucky Barnes, do you?” 

Bucky looked up in surprise, and swallowed hard. They must not have the draft anymore, he realized. He kept forgetting the war was supposed to be over. It was such a stupid slip up to make. 

“Hey, I’m not judging,” Sam said kindly. He watched Bucky like he was just another person, not like a curiosity, not like a _thing_. “We’ve got aliens falling out the sky every other week these days, and we’ve already got one 1940’s defrosted war hero in the line up, so what’s one more?” 

It had been so long since Bucky had just talked with someone, like he was a real person, that he was answering before he really thought it all the way through. “Yeah, well, it’s a long story, and I’m no hero,” he admitted, “but let’s just say I spent quite a bit of time frozen, too.” 

“Does he know you’re alive?” Sam asked softly. “Captain America, I mean?” 

“I don't remember him,” Bucky said. 

Which was true, but not the entire truth. He did know who he was. He’d seen him right there beside Iron Man in the papers—some ridiculous guy dressed like the American flag—and it had left him unable to breathe. He’d huddled in the corner of his safe house for a half an hour trying to remember, trying to take in air, but he just kept seeing some skinny little kid that he was pretty sure he’d loved more than life itself instead. 

After that, he’d been afraid to try and find out any information on himself, because he wasn't sure he'd like what he'd find. When that photo got on the news he’d heard one of the reporters mention that there was an exhibit at the Smithsonian. Maybe he'd get around to going eventually. 

But for now he'd just been trying to remember on his own, writing everything down in that journal that was gone now too. And it shouldn't matter, it wasn't near as dangerous a loss as the other book his pack had held, but it _hurt_ , all the same. 

“What do you remember?” Sam asked gently. 

“Mostly what happened after I fell,” Bucky admitted. He didn’t like to think about the fact that his memories were mostly of his time as the Winter Solider. He didn’t _feel_ like the Winter Soldier. It was a little like he had woken up with someone else’s memories, and none of his own. 

But he was still _himself_ , whoever that was. 

“Well, I can’t say I know all that much about it, was never really one for history,” Sam started, “but I know enough to know that until the battle of New York, every story they ever told about Captain America had you in it. I think he’d probably do anything to have you back.” 

“I don’t even have me back,” Bucky said quietly.

Sam couldn’t think of a single thing to say to that.


	4. the lab

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Mentions of Bucky's time as the Winter Solider, which, you know, is horrifying. So non-graphic references to torture and mind control.

Tony gives Natasha the coordinates for a cabin in upstate New York, and with the Quinjet, it doesn’t take them long to get there. The cabin sat quiet and abandoned, with the cobwebs on the door nearly an inch thick. “I don’t really come here,” Tony explained, shrugging, when he forced open the door. 

Tony had only ever been here with his parents. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to sell the place any more than he had to return to it, so it had been sitting here unremembered and untouched for over twenty years. He glanced around at the inside of the cabin. There were white sheets over all the furniture, dust layered atop it thick enough they all looked grey. 

“I don’t think anyone’s been here in a long time, Tony,” Natasha offered. 

“We came here after I completed my first year of college,” Tony said. “I was fourteen, I think? Fifteen?” He walked through the center of the room. The lights weren’t working, though the program he was running on his phone was picking up a low level energy signal from somewhere. “I had the backpack with me. Left it here. I thought it was no big deal, we’d come back. Only they got busy, and I got busy, and we never did.” 

Steve looked around the cabin sadly. There was a wedding photo of Howard and his wife on the mantel above the fire place, with a picture of a young, smiling Tony, right beside it. It wasn’t that long ago he had been joking with Howard in one of their camps, and he wondered what his life might have been like, if he’d gotten to grow old with them. 

But then he wouldn’t be here now, with Bucky, so the nostalgia didn’t quite have the pull that it used to. 

“Okay, so that’s not normal,” Tony said, tapping at his phone. “Always with the secrets, huh, dad?” 

“Tony?” Steve prompted, frowning back at him. 

“We’re in the wrong place,” Tony said, and turned to march outside. Natasha and Steve followed after him as he took them behind the cabin and through the trees. “It’s here somewhere. Let me know if you see it.” 

“Let you know if we see what?” Steve asked. 

“I’m guessing this,” Natasha said, slamming her foot down on a patch of brown, dead grass. There was a hollow metal ring as her foot made contact. 

“Yep, that’ll be it,” Tony agreed. “Captain Muscles, if you’d do the honors? I’ve had enough calisthenics for the day.” 

Steve knelt down and felt around the ground until he could grasp where metal met the dirt. He pulled and the cover came loose, slamming open to reveal a dark hole with a ladder down its side. There was a slight flicker of light coming from somewhere down inside, and it lit up the tunnel like the sky during a lightning storm. 

“Hey, ladies first, Rogers,” Natasha said when Steve moved to enter. She pulled out her gun and dropped down onto the ladder, gripping it with her free hand. “This is my arena.” 

Steve wanted to protest, but held back. He knew how capable Natasha was and she was right, she was much better at this kind of thing than he was. He had a habit of barreling into places like a bull in a china shop, and it meant he wasn’t always at his best in close quarters or with anything resembling covert. She could slip in and out of places without anyone even knowing she’d been there. 

She winked at him and then let go, dropping the rest of the way to land in a crouch. She stood with her gun held ready, and then disappeared into the intermittent darkness. 

“Clear,” she called back to them, a moment later. 

Steve dropped in after her, not bothering with the ladder. Tony muttered, “Show off,” and climbed down after him. 

The flickering lights made it hard to take the entire room in. It would flash and he’d see a computer station in one corner, another flash and he saw some kind of tube in the other. 

“Power’s failing,” Tony said, unnecessarily, and pulled out a small black disc. “Jarvis, light the place up.” 

The disc buzzed and then a beam of light streamed up towards the ceiling, before spreading to cover the entire room. Tony set it on a nearby table, and wandered to the computers. Steve wasn’t sure how the device worked, but it could light up any room Tony put it in. Clint had called the thing the world’s most expensive flashlight.

“Did you know about this place?” Steve asked. 

“Nope,” Tony said. “But I’m not surprised. My dad got a little cagey those last few years. He started hiding things from me, my mom. He would disappear for days at a time.” He blew dust off one of the screens. “Guess he was coming here.” 

“Steve!” Natasha called. 

Steve turned and quickly joined her in a small bathroom. There were long strands of brown hair littering the floor and the sink, and he frowned as he looked down at it, not quite knowing what he was looking at. Natasha was beside the shower, and she was holding some kind of body armor. 

It had one full sleeve, but the other side was cut off at the shoulder. Buckles crisscrossed over the front. “You ever seen anything like that?” Steve asked. 

“One sleeve?” Tony said, as he popped his head in. “Weird fashion statement. But not the weirdest thing here by a long shot. You’re going to want to see this.” 

Natasha dropped the shirt, and followed Steve and Tony back out. Tony stopped in front of a long metal tube. There was an open lid, with a clear glass window covering it. “It’s a cryostasis pod,” Tony said. “And according to the logs, it only opened up about two months ago after power started failing. That’s why the lab hasn’t quite burnt through the power reserves yet. Hasn’t been that long.” 

“Your father died in 1991,” Natasha said. “Are you saying someone has been here in stasis since then? That’s over twenty years.” 

“Yeah, and I think we all know who it was. Explains why he still looks so young, and why he had my backpack,” Tony said, and glanced back at Steve. “Turns out you’re not the only World War II soldier that’s been kept on ice.” 

Steve pursed his lips angrily, but didn’t bother to snap back at him. He just looked back to the bathroom, thinking of that weird armor, of that cut hair. 

“How could it have even been kept running this long, if no one else even knew about this place?” Natasha asked. 

“Pretty sure it’s cause of that,” Tony said, and pointed behind him. 

Steve frowned as he caught site of a large glowing ring, about the size of a truck tire. “Is that what I think it is?” he asked. 

“It’s an arc reactor,” Tony shrugged. “Seems he miniaturized it first—I mean, to a certain degree, certainly nothing like what I managed—“

“Tony,” Steve broke in quietly. 

“It must have been one of the first prototypes,” he finished. “Seems to have worked. Kept this place running a couple decades.” 

Steve looked back at the cryostasis pod, placing a hand along the edge, trying to imagine it holding his friend. It hurt to think of him stuck inside of this. Bucky had never really liked being confined. “Why would Howard put Bucky in cyro?” 

“No idea,” Tony said, and swallowed hard. “But he did it on the day he died.”

“None of this makes any sense,” Steve said in frustration. 

“It might, if he did it to keep him safe from whoever was after him,” Natasha said, as she picked up a piece of paper from the floor. “From Howard,” she explained, as she held it out. “To Barnes.” 

Steve’s hand was shaking as he reached out to take it, and he noticed Tony didn’t look much better. He set it on the desk between them, and let the words roll over him in Howard’s voice: _If I somehow managed to talk my way into heaven, Steve's already going to kick my ass for not helping you more._

“He knew someone was after him,” Tony said shakily. “God, he called me, you know, right before they were killed? They’d just been in a car accident, and they wanted to tell me they loved me. He never did that. He never said that to me. I thought it was just because he was shaken from the accident, but he knew—“ 

Tony punched at the desk in frustration, his knuckles breaking open without his suit to protect him, and let his head drop down onto the surface. 

Steve cautiously reached out a hand and laid it on Tony’s back. “Howard was a good man,” he said. “One of the best.” 

“He was an arrogant son of a bitch,” Tony huffed out, laughing brokenly as he pushed himself back up. “But he was still my dad.” 

“They never did close your parents case, did they?” Natasha asked softly. 

“No,” Tony agreed. “Peggy Carter kept getting sidelined from the case, they said she was too personally involved, but she had always thought the car accident wasn’t an accident. My dad must have known it, too. I just don’t know how Barnes fits in, and unless we can catch up to him, I don’t think there’s anybody else left to ask.” 

“Maybe not someone, but—“ Steve broke off, looking at the backpack Tony had kept thrown over one shoulder. “Those journals—“ 

Tony muttered a curse for not thinking of it first, and swung the backpack onto the table. Steve stepped up beside him, pulling out the red journal with the star. He flipped it open and then frowned when he realized he wouldn’t be reading it anytime soon. 

“I think this is written in Cyrillic,” he said. 

Natasha had lifted the brown journal out of the bag, and she held it out to him. “Trade you,” she offered, and Steve switched with her. 

Steve carefully opened the second journal, and on the first page, in hurried but elegant scrawl, it read: **Who is Steve?**

There was a cut out picture of him in his uniform from a magazine, and a hurried note written along its side in red pen: **1 Steve, or 2 Steves?**

And then: **Howard said we were friends**

“He doesn’t know who I am,” Steve whispered, and he had suspected, he had _known_ something would be wrong with Bucky. If Bucky had been fine, had been himself, then he would have come to Steve on his own. He always had before. 

“I think it’s much worse than that,” Natasha said tightly. “I don’t think he even knows who he is.” 

Steve’s head jerked up to look at her. Natasha looked uncomfortable, her hand trembling slightly as she moved to the next page. The fact that these signs were slipping past her iron clad control terrified him more than anything else. “What did you find?” 

“He was captured by Hydra after he fell from the train,” Natasha said quietly. “He was running missions for them for years.” 

“Bucky would never work for Hydra,” Steve snapped. 

“He didn’t have a choice,” she explained, looking up at him with sympathy. “He was their prisoner. This is a handler’s manual. It’s…not good, Steve. I don’t think you want to know what’s in it.” 

“Tell me,” he insisted. 

“He was badly injured when they found him, they had to amputate his left arm. They replaced it with an advanced prosthetic, and then they broke him,” she said, and this time she kept her eyes on the book. “But they had to take away everything he was in order to do it. Steve, you don’t—“ 

“ _Tell me_ ,” he said again, clenching his jaw. 

“They tortured him, for years. Pain conditioning. They would break his bones to check how fast they would heal. They would hold him under the water until he didn’t struggle against them anymore. They used experimental drugs to try and bring him under control, and electro shock therapy to cut off access to long-term memory. They programmed him to activate with a sequence of words, and then they started sending him on missions.” 

Steve wanted to tell her to stop, wanted to _beg_ for her to stop, but then he remembered the train. He remembered pressing his eyes shut so he wouldn’t have to see Bucky hit the ground—and what if he’d watched? What if he’d seen him, what if he’d went back for him, like Bucky would have done for him…

This time he couldn’t look away. 

“Keep going,” he said stiffly. 

“They called him the Asset, but they were terrified of him,” Natasha said, looking almost surprised as she quickly went through the pages. “They would keep him locked behind four inch metal doors between missions. If they let him out of cryo too long, his memories would start to return. He’d start to fight them. They would try to lie and tell him he was doing good. They would try and convince he was helping his own cause. But he would see through it. There are some…instances, where he took out entire Hydra strike teams before they were able to reign him back in. According to this, he had at least three escape attempts between 1950 and 1985, but they managed to get him back by using the trigger words on him. After that, It got to where they had to wipe his mind completely before and after every mission, sometimes even right in the middle of one. It was the only way they could keep him on their side.” 

“Oh my god,” Steve breathed, as it finally started to sink in. He fell back against the wall, sliding down it until he landed on the floor. Bucky would have been a prisoner of Hydra for _fifty_ years before he’d been found by Howard. Fifty years of torture, fifty years of being made to support an organization he had given so much to try to stop. Fifty years _alone_. 

“He never stopped fighting them,” Natasha said as knelt down in front of him, her eyes wide and kind. Her sympathy seemed sincere and was comforting even as Steve knew she could call up any emotion she wanted at any time.

“He’s all alone out there, Nat,” Steve said brokenly.

“He got his hands on money, and this book. He’s been taking care of himself well enough. That means he’s organized, he’s thinking rationally,” Natasha said, her voice calm and soothing. “Whatever they tried to do to him, it didn’t entirely work. That’s something, Steve. Trust me…that’s everything.” 

“It didn’t work,” Tony echoed, as he stepped back from them, turning to look back at the cyrostasis tube. “And that’s why—christ, that’s what happened.” 

“What?” Steve asked, looking up. “What are you thinking?” 

“They must have sent him to kill my father,” Tony said, flexing his hands. “But he didn’t do it. Maybe my dad got through to him somehow, or he got through it on his own, and my dad brought him here. He knew someone was after him because he’d already survived one attempt. The car accident that wasn’t so much an accident.” 

“Bucky would never…” Steve started to say. Natasha reached out and placed a hand on his arm in silent support, letting his mind catch up on his own. 

Because Bucky wouldn’t have had a choice. 

“Well, he didn’t, so at least there’s that,” Tony said, mock-cheerful. “Your buddy sleeping beauty was tucked away here when my parents were killed, so I think we can cross him off the suspects list. And based on his reaction when the Strike team tried to pick him up, he’s sure as hell not still working for them now.” 

He moved back to the computer, frowning at the data he was finding and sending copies to his phone. “Anyway, if I’m right—and when am I not?—and they did send him to kill my parents, then he wasn’t even the reason Hydra was after them in the first place,” Tony said. 

“Because that would mean they were trying to kill them before Howard even rescued Bucky,” Steve realized. “They were after something else.” 

“Gold star, Boy Scout,” Tony told him distractedly. “And I’ve got a bad feeling I know just what it was.” 

He tapped at his phone, and then a light grid appears in the air above it. He reached out with his hand, touching on a small fragment of it, then opening his fingers to enlarge it. Steve stepped forward to examine it. It looked to be something at the molecular level, small fuzzy blue dots grouped together in a haphazard chain. 

“Recognize it?” Tony asked. 

“No,” Steve said. 

“You should, you’ve got a variation of it running through your veins,” Tony said. “Turns out daddy dearest was using this secret lab to study the super solider serum. Seems like SHIELD kept Zola less on probation and more on the payroll—he devised a new serum formula and they wanted my dad to crash test it with simulations before they began human trials.”

“Human trials?” Steve asked in worry. “Did they—“ 

“According to this, the simulations were all successful, but since we never heard anything about it…” Tony said, and shrugged. “My guess is that’s what Hydra was after—and they took it, leaving my parents for dead.” 

“Tony,” Steve said in sympathy. 

“It was a long time ago,” Tony said dismissively, though the pain in his eyes betrayed the casual tone. “Home invasion, they told us. Maybe…maybe it sort of helps, knowing he died trying to do the right thing, trying to help your friend and keep this out of their hands. But my mom—” 

Tony broke off, his voice cracking. Steve wanted to put his fist through the wall, but settled for closing his eyes. Hydra had ruined so many lives, and taken so much.

He couldn’t give Tony his parents back, but he could give Bucky his life back.

He _would_.

He turned to glare at the book in Natasha’s hands. “I want that destroyed,” he said, his voice sharp and dangerous. 

Natasha held it protectively against her chest. “That’s not a good idea,” she said. “There might not be a record of this anywhere else. If you want to know what they did to him, and how to help him, you’ll need it.” She paused, considering her next words carefully. “And also, there’s a deactivation sequence. We might need to use it to subdue him.” 

“I am not going to use that book against him,” Steve said, turning to stalk closer to Natasha. She watched his approach, unmoved. 

“There might come a time that it’s a better option than the alternative,” Natasha said cooly. “You’re looking for Barnes, but the truth is we don’t know who it is we might find.” 

“Bucky escaped from them,” Steve insisted. “He’s not with them anymore. He hasn’t been with them for twenty years. If I could just talk to him—“ 

“It hasn’t been twenty years for him,” Natasha said. “It’s been two months. I don’t think you quite understand what was done to him. What they do to people.” She watched him warily, still clutching the book to herself like a talisman, and Steve backed off as he realized that she did know exactly what had been done to Bucky. Because they’d done some of the same things to her. 

“I’m not asking you to give up on him. I’m not asking you to betray him,” Natasha assured him. “But if you approach him like he’s the man you knew, if you rush in thinking you’re going to just get him back…you might do more harm than good.” 

Steve turned away from her, knowing she was right but unable to entirely dispel the idea of getting Bucky back. Tony cleared his throat, waving haphazardly to again their attention. “So what are we thinking?” he asked. “We’ve got moles in SHIELD?” 

“I think Rumlow is proof of that,” Steve said darkly. 

“We should call Fury,” Natasha said. 

“You really think we can trust him?” Steve asked incredulously. 

Natasha hesitated, which was answer enough. “Yes. No. I don’t know,” she said. 

“That’s a problem,” Steve told her. 

She nodded sharply, acknowledging that. “Then I need to go back in.” 

“That's definitely not a good idea,” Tony said. 

Natasha shook her head dismissively. “Look, Barnes took out that Strike team single-handed, they don’t know we’re involved. Not yet. I need to get back into SHIELD and try to figure out what the hell is going on. Who we can still trust.” 

“I don’t think we should split up,” Steve said. “If we head back and they already know we’re involved—“ 

“This is what I do,” she said firmly. “I can find out who we can trust, but you’ve got to start by trusting me. Can you do that?” 

Steve watched her steadily. He had never trusted Natasha one hundred percent. Anyone that could lie that well could be lying at any time. He’d never been entirely sure which side she was on. 

But she’d followed him on this chase, and she’d never flinched at what she’d found. She’d never made excuses for SHIELD. She was too used to being used to think it was all just some mistake, and she was too practical to think it was a misunderstanding. 

“I trust you,” Steve decided. 

“Well, I don’t. I’m still not entirely over you pretending to be my assistant,” Tony said.

Natasha gave him a long-suffering glance. “My cover was never as your assistant, Tony,” she said. 

“Well, whatever you were, it broke my heart, truly, I still cry myself to sleep,” Tony said, before reaching for the backpack and picking it up. “Think it’s safe to drop us off back at the tower before you go do your super spy thing?” 

“Yes,” Natasha agreed. “You need to act as normal as possible or they’re going to get suspicious.” 

“If I acted normal, they’d definitely get suspicious,” Tony told her, before heading for the ladder. 

Steve winced at joke, before starting to follow him out. Natasha caught his wrist before he could leave. “Thank you,” she said quietly. 

“I know this isn’t easy for you, either,” Steve said. 

Natasha shot him a wry grin. “It’s hard to become the good guy when you can’t tell them apart from the bad guys,” she said. “But I’m used to walking the line.” 

“I thought I knew where the line was, and I thought I knew I’d never cross it,” Steve said. 

“And now?” Natasha asked. 

“I don’t know where it is anymore,” Steve said. “I don’t even know which side of it I’m even on. But I know I’d cross it in a second, if Bucky was on the other side.” 

“You always do the right thing, Rogers,” Natasha told him. 

Steve gave a sad laugh. “That’s revisionist history,” he said. “Books all got it wrong. Bucky was the one always doing the right thing. He was always stopping the fights. I was the one starting them.” 

“Sometimes the right thing is a fight,” she said. 

Tony leaned back into the lab, looking over at them in exasperation. “Are you done with your little heart-to-heart? That I wasn’t invited to?” Tony asked. “Because I’ve got a schedule to keep.” 

Steve smiled faintly, and started to the ladder. “We’re coming,” he called.

* * * * *

“They called him the Winter Soldier,” Natasha told him, the moment he answered the phone. 

Steve and Tony were back at the Avengers tower, while Natasha gathered intel at the Triskelion in D.C. It had been nearly half a day, and he hadn’t gotten any closer to finding Bucky. Tony had been scouring the traffic cameras for the entire east coast looking for any sign of him with no luck, but it still took a minute for Steve to realize who Natasha was referring to. 

“The Winter Soldier?” he repeated, and the name didn’t fit. He thought of Bucky’s smile, and the way he’d always felt like summer.

“He’s a legend,” she continued. “A ghost story. Most don’t believe he ever existed, and when the stories stopped back in the late eighties, he was almost entirely forgotten. It wasn’t hard to match up the timelines and realize it fit Barnes. There’s nothing in the system connecting the Winter Solider with Barnes, but I know it’s him. There’s a Priority One Retrieval Alert out the Winter Soldier, Steve. They want him bad and they want him alive.” 

“I can’t let them get him, Nat,” Steve said, leaning his head against the glass wall of the tower. “I can’t let him get hurt like that again.” 

“I wish I could say they wouldn’t, but this doesn’t look good,” Natasha said. “I’m not sure who, if anyone, knows the truth about the Winter Soldier’s real identity, but I think we can trust Fury, Hill, maybe Agent 13.” She paused. “But I’d still wait to trust them until you get Barnes somewhere safe.” 

“I don’t know how I’m going to do that,” Steve sighed. “Tony hasn’t found any trace of him. Bucky knows they’re looking for him now, he’s not going to be as easy to find.” 

“Yeah, about that,” Natasha said wryly. “I may have an idea. Something to draw him out. They want him because of the serum, right? But you’re the original model, and they’ve never gone after you. Why do you think that is?” 

“I’m part of SHIELD,” Steve said. “I’m always on the news—”

“Exactly,” Natasha said approvingly. “You’re a public figure. People would notice if you just went missing.” 

“You want to make an official statement,” he said in realization, and swallowed hard. “You want to tell the world he’s alive.” 

“It might be the one thing that can keep him out of their hands,” Natasha said. “As long as Hydra, or SHIELD, or whoever, is working from the shadows, they’re going to keep getting away with it.” 

“Bucky wouldn’t…he wouldn’t want this,” Steve said. 

“No,” Natasha agreed. “Chances are he’s already pissed he got himself caught in that photo, and he’s not going to be happy if you make it worse. But, Steve, we need to get ahead of this. We have to control the narrative, or they may use his time as the Winter Soldier to paint him as a terrorist and a traitor,” she explained. “You give an impassioned plea, you get the world behind him, and it’s going to tie their hands. They’re not going to be able to use him the way they want.” 

“This could go very, very wrong,” Steve said. “Bucky’s…confused…he doesn’t remember me. He might not even remember himself. I do this, and he might never trust me again. He might run for good.” 

“He might,” Natasha agreed. “Your call.” 

Steve thought about finding Bucky, finally getting him back, only for Bucky to want nothing to do with him. Just the thought of it made him feel physically sick, like he was a kid again, back when his lungs used to forget how they were supposed to work. 

But then he remembered what the world had been like without Bucky in it at all, and he knew there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do. He wouldn’t let anyone stand in the way of keeping Bucky safe, certainly not himself—not even Bucky. 

“What could I even say?” he asked wearily. 

“I have some ideas about that, too,” Natasha said. “I think I know how you can get him to come to you.” She paused. “But it's a long shot.”

“Well, Bucky’s always been good at those,” Steve said, coming to a decision. “Set it up.”


	5. the message

Bucky couldn’t remember the last time that he had slept in a bed. 

He wasn’t entirely sure he could remember the last time he’d actually _slept_. 

He certainly shouldn’t have felt safe in some stranger’s spare room—there wasn’t anywhere safe for him, not when the greatest danger he’d ever known was buried in his own mind. 

He heard someone moving around nearby and that was what finally got him up. He looked warily at the door, which he had barricaded with a chair, and then cautiously ventured out. Sam was in the kitchen, making coffee, and looking far too cheerful. 

Bucky narrowed his eyes at him, and ran his hands through his hair. It had been a little long since he’d washed it, and he was pretty sure it stayed sticking up. Sam took one look at him and grinned.

“I’m gonna be honest, you’re not striking me as a morning person,” Sam told him brightly. 

“I don’t sleep much,” Bucky said sullenly, as he dropped down on the barstool beside the counter. “I may have lost the knack for waking up.” 

Sam gave him a worried look, like he couldn’t quite figure out if he was being messed with, and then passed him over a coffee. “You look like you need this more than I do,” he said. 

“Doesn’t work on me anymore,” Bucky said, pushing himself up slightly on the barstool to glance inside the cup resentfully. “I’d probably need to take a shot of adrenaline to the heart to get any kind of buzz.” 

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” Sam deadpanned. 

“Me either,” Bucky said, as he lifted the mug to give the coffee a shot anyway. “It’s not a good time.”

Sam watched him with something approaching horror. “You’re not kidding, are you?” he asked. 

“Sure I am,” he lied with a shrug, before turning to pull at the neck of his t-shirt and check his hoodie-sleeve bandage. 

“Want me to have a look at that?” Sam asked casually, inwardly wincing at the mess of blood covering the dirty cotton makeshift bandage. “Probably should have last night. It’s going to get infected.” 

“It’s fine,” Bucky said, slipping his fingers beneath the bandage to trace them across the skin. The wound had healed when he slept, so he only encountered a small raised line. 

“You want to humor me?” Sam asked. “I don’t want to be the idiot that let Bucky Barnes get sick with infection. Pretty sure Captain America would hunt me to the ends of the earth for it.” 

Bucky rolled his eyes, but slid the bandage down and tugged at the neck of his shirt, revealing the clear skin, and the small, swollen pink cut that was all that remained of the gunshot. Sam’s eyes widened. “That looks months old,” he said. “When did you get shot?” 

“Yesterday,” Bucky said, rolling his shoulder to test for pain. There wasn’t enough for him to really notice it. “Didn’t really do much damage, should be fully healed up by tomorrow.” 

Sam dropped down on the barstool beside him, staring at him in disbelief. “I guess you have more in common with Captain America than just coming from the same place, huh?” he asked. 

“Like I said, long story,” Bucky told him. “And you’ve already done more than enough for me, so I’m sure as hell not gonna make you listen to it.” 

“Well, even if your wound is healed up, you should still get out of those bloody clothes,” Sam said. “I have some stuff you can borrow if you want to shower.” 

“I can’t pay you,” Bucky said, looking back at Sam with a frown. “I’m a little short on resources at the moment, and what little I had is either back in New York or…stolen.” 

“I didn’t ask for anything,” Sam said. “You know, I know war’s pretty much just one terrible thing after another, but there were good things I learned there, too. In war, it doesn’t matter who you are, or what you have. Soldiers take care of one another. And that’s one thing I didn’t mind bringing home with me.” 

Bucky watched him carefully. “You remind me of someone,” he said softly. “But I can’t remember who.” 

Sam just reached out and clapped him on the shoulder, not even wincing when he hit metal instead of skin. “Come on,” he said.

Sam gave him a pair of jeans, a long sleeve black shirt and some socks, and then left him in the bathroom. Bucky gratefully stripped out of his bloody clothes, and then took a quick shower. The jeans were a little tight, but the shirt fit pretty well. He rolled his own ruined clothes into a ball and pressed them into the trash, except for the pea coat, which he put back on. He’d gotten it at a second hand store and it was more than a little beat up, but it felt familiar, and he didn’t want to part with it. 

He didn't shave, and while he didn't think a little bit of stubble was going to be much help in disguising him, it couldn’t hurt. 

“Bucky!” Sam called to him, sounding worried. Bucky tensed, grabbing his things and quickly heading back the hall. “You’re gonna wanna see this.” 

Bucky followed his gaze to the television, and narrowed his eyes when he saw Captain America at a podium, leading a press conference. “—it actually was James Buchanan Barnes. I know what you’re all thinking,” he said, glancing down with a sad, tired smile, “he’s finally lost it, right? But the truth is, this is the first time since I woke up that this world makes any sense at all.” 

“Is he saying what I think he’s saying?” Bucky asked, running his right hand down his face. 

“That depends, do you think he just told the world you weren’t dead?” Sam asked. “Cause that’s what happening.” 

Predictably, the reporters were in a uproar, all of them trying to shout over one another. Steve looked unconcerned by it, patiently waiting for them to calm down. 

“Captain America!” one shouted. “James Buchanan Barnes died in 1944, how are we expected to believe he’s come back to life?” 

“Do you believe I’m here?” Steve asked. “Because I died the week after he did.” Steve looked down for a moment, getting his bearings. “The truth is, Bucky’s been a prisoner of war. He was found by enemy forces after he fell from the train in 1944, and he was their prisoner for nearly fifty years. They tortured him, and forced him to work for them, until he managed to escape in 1991.” 

Bucky dropped down onto Sam’s couch, watching the man on the screen. He was oddly familiar and foreign at the very same time, like a memory come to life that had been remembered in the wrong way. 

“Captain Rogers! Captain! How is it that he still appears to be so young?” a young man asked. 

“He was kept in cryogenic stasis for most of his time as a prisoner of war, and then again from 1991 until a couple months ago,” Steve said quietly. “We estimate that he’s only been awake for less than two years since he was assumed killed in action.” 

“Will there be an investigation into the crimes he may have committed during the last seventy years?” a woman shouted, pushing her microphone forward. 

“Well, ma’am, I’ve already spoken to General Samson of the United States Army, the man in charge of what used to be Sergeant Barnes’ division, and he understood the situation well enough not to ask me a question like that,” Steve said, his mouth forming a tight, irritated line. “He just asked me to bring him by once I found him so they could give him a Purple Heart.” 

The reporters began shouting again, but Steve ignored them. “I’m not taking any more questions,” he said. “The Avengers will be issuing an official statement later today. The reason I called everyone here is that I wanted to get a message to Bucky.” 

He looked up at the camera then, and despite the costume hiding most of his features, the eyes were so familiar that Bucky was having trouble breathing. He glanced at Sam, and quickly away again when he realized the other man was watching him with concern. 

“Bucky, I want you to know it’s safe to come home. Please, just…please come home. I was even able to get a hold of some of your things, like that old book of yours, you know the one? It’s yours, if you want it back. Please, Buck—“ he broke off, glancing away from the cameras for a moment. He looked back up. “I just need to know you’re safe.” 

The video feed cut out, returning to the news station. One of the newscasters glanced at her co-anchor with wide eyes. “Well, there you have it,” she said, sounding stunned. “You heard it here first, Bucky Barnes, famed Howling Commando and war hero, is alive.” 

“I’m still in shock right now,” the co-anchor said. “To think—“ 

Bucky grabbed up the remote and shut off the television. Sam glanced at him worriedly, but Bucky ignored him as he went over what was said and realized what that message really meant. It was either an invitation, or it was a trap. 

But it had the side-effect of blowing any chance of a decent cover out of the water, and he was running out of options. He could mostly avoid any attention from that photo they’d had on the news because it honestly just wasn’t that exciting to see a person that looked like someone else. But now that they knew Bucky Barnes actually was back from the dead, wandering around somewhere? Attention was going to be a lot harder to avoid. 

He should find a way out of the country and never look back—except without that book, he’d never be able to stop looking over his shoulder. 

And Captain America had known that. 

“Shit,” Bucky snapped, before pushing to his feet. “I’ve got to get out of here.” 

“Hey, we had a deal, remember?” Sam said lightly. “Not that I wouldn’t be willing to let you get out group if you were planning to go see Captain America.” 

“I can’t go there,” Bucky said, giving a laugh that was just this side of hysterical. “If I had any sense, I’d be running full out in the opposite direction.” 

“You really sure this is something you should be running from?” he asked. “Seems to me you have someone that just wants to make sure you’re safe. Not all of us get that, maybe it’s not something you want to just throw away.” 

“Yeah, well, things aren’t always what they seem,” Bucky told him, “and I can’t afford to trust anyone.” He paused, frowning. “Not even him.” 

Sam held up his hands. “I don’t know what you’ve got going on, so I’m not going to tell you you’re wrong,” he said. “But sometimes it pays off to take a chance. You trusted me enough to come here, didn’t you?” 

Bucky glanced at him warily. “Yeah, but I’m pretty sure I could take you in a fight,” he said, lips turning up in a slight smirk. “Taking on all of the Avengers at once might be a challenge, even for me.” 

“Uh huh, maybe one day we’ll test that,” Sam said, narrowing his eyes even as he fought his own smirk, “but you still trusted me, or you wouldn’t be here.” 

“Yeah, and you’ve been great,” he admitted with a sigh. “Which is why I hate to ask, because you’ve already done so much for me, but do you—“ 

“Hey, man, whatever you need,” Sam interrupted quickly. “You want me to give you a ride to Avengers Tower? You want me to try and give them a call, I could—“ 

“I want to borrow a hat,” Bucky broke in.

Sam crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes again. “A hat,” he repeated disapprovingly. “You’re asking me for a damn hat.” 

Bucky reached up to scratch at the back of his neck, not quite meeting his eyes. “Ah, yeah? You got one you can spare?” he asked. 

“You’re still not going to meet him, are you?” Sam sighed. 

Sam was radiating disapproval, and for a moment Bucky wondered if the person that Sam reminded him of was actually his mother, but that didn't seem quite right, either.

“That wasn’t the heart-wrenching appeal it sounded like,” Bucky told him. “That was a set up. He was baiting me.” 

“You sure about that?” Sam asked.

“He has something I want,” he said. “And he wants me to turn myself in.” 

“So he can get you your Purple Heart?” Sam questioned slowly. “No one’s gonna try and prosecute you for things done under duress, you know that, right?” He frowned at Bucky. “You want to know what I just saw? I saw someone asking you to come home.” 

“That isn’t my home,” Bucky said. “I don’t…exactly remember it, but it was in Brooklyn, and I’m pretty certain it wasn’t the Avengers Tower.” 

“Home’s not always a place,” Sam said, as he reached over and grabbed a baseball cap off a hook on the wall. He tossed it to Bucky reluctantly. 

"Thanks," Bucky said. "For everything, not just the hat. You had no reason to help me—and I won't forget it."

"Everyone needs help sometimes, Bucky," Sam said kindly. "You don't have to be alone."

Bucky pulled on the hat, tilting the visor to hide his eyes, and started for the door. “Yes, I do," he said. 

He heard Sam mutter a curse behind him, but he didn’t stop to look back.

* * * * *

He waited until he was five blocks away before hot wiring a car, because he didn't think Sam would entirely approve. He didn’t know why that should even _matter_ , but for some reason it did. He ended choosing a beat-up Volkswagen Bug, because the best cars to take were the ones the owners might not want back.

He wasn’t even sure where he was going until it was four hours later, and he was parked a block from Avengers Tower. 

It was stupid. It was a _trap_. That much was obvious. He wanted to think Captain America wasn’t in on it. They’d been friends—everyone said so. But Captain America worked for SHIELD, and he might not actually know who it was that _SHIELD_ worked for. 

“Screw it,” Bucky decided. He left the keys in the ignition and ditched the car. He had to take the chance the offer was genuine, and he’d get his book back. 

But that didn’t mean he had to _ask_ for it back. 

Security for the building was all gathered around the front doors, trying to hold back a steady stream of rabid reporters and civilians holding signs with inexplicable messages that read like: _Save Bucky Barnes_ and _Bring Bucky Home_. He didn’t know why they were bothering, or why they felt the need to do it at the Avengers Tower, when the Avengers wanted to find him too. 

He eyed them warily as he slipped through them, tugging his hat further down and slipping off to the side and through one of the entrances. With security distracted with crowd control, he managed to sneak through the lobby and towards the elevator in the back. The doors required a keycard to open, so he pried them open with his metal hand, before slipping inside and forcing them shut behind him. 

“I’m afraid this elevator is restricted, sir.” 

Bucky looked up with a frown, only mildly surprised to find the elevator could talk to him. Starks, he thought wearily, were always doing everything to excess. He noticed the small camera in the top corner of front right, and quickly reached up to smash it with the palm of his metal hand. 

“Sir, I must ask you to desist at once. If you cause any further destruction of Stark property you will be prosecuted to the full—“ 

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky said. “You already told them I’m here, I’m guessing?” 

“The proper authorities have been alerted,” the elevator agreed. “I would suggest that you place your hands on your head and wait to be taken into custody.” 

“Sure, I’ll get right on that,” Bucky said, as he hopped up to stand on the handrail, balancing on the thin rail with his toes. He reached up to push one of the top panels free on the elevator, and then climbed up into the elevator shaft. His hat got caught on the edge of the elevator ceiling and fluttered down. He caught it, but stuck it in his back pocket to keep it out of the way. 

He dropped the ceiling panel back into place behind him and grabbed onto the maintenance ladder, but he knew it wouldn’t take them to figure out where he’d gone. 

“This area is strictly forbidden,” the voice told him. 

Or maybe it would take them no time at all. “You’re not just the elevator, are you?” he sighed. 

“I am Jarvis, or Just A Really Very Intelligent System, if you prefer,” the computer told him haughtily. “Security forces are—“ 

“On the way, yeah, you said,” Bucky said. “Look, I’m not here to hurt anyone. Just here to pick up what’s mine. Maybe cut me some slack?” 

There was a contemplative pause. “You are Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes,” Jarvis said, sounding startled. Bucky frowned, wondering how a computer could even sound surprised, and how the hell did it even _know_? 

“That’s not at all creepy,” he muttered. 

“I have been tasked to watch for your arrival and would have been more obliging had I known your identity, but I’m afraid the hat you were wearing was interfering with my facial recognition algorithms,” Jarvis explained. “Captain Rogers will be very pleased to know that you’re here. Though I don’t suppose he was expecting to have a reunion in the elevator shaft.” 

“You’re kind of a smart-ass for a computer, aren’t you?” Bucky asked. 

“I learn by example, Sergeant Barnes,” Jarvis answered primly. 

Bucky snorted. “Right,” he said, glancing back down at the elevator. “Well, I definitely would have come in another way if I knew this whole building was alive. You’re sort of taking away my element of surprise.” 

“I do apologize, sir,” Jarvis said. “However, there is no need for such measures, as you are very welcome to be here. If you would please return to the elevator, I can take you directly to the penthouse.” 

“Not that I don’t trust you, all-knowing voice in the wall,” Bucky said wryly, “but I think I’ll continue on my own way.” 

“I am not all-knowing,” Jarvis told him. “But it is true there is nowhere you can go in this building that I won’t know about.” He paused. “So I suppose that within the confines of this building I could be considered all-knowing.”

Bucky wound his right arm through the ladder for balance and then held out his left wrist. “Yeah, that’s a problem,” Bucky agreed. He carefully peeled back one of the metal panels at the wrist, and gently inserted his fingers to deactivate one of the safety controls on his arm. “I’m certainly not going to be able to follow through with my plan while you’re watching my every move.” 

“I’m glad you’ve seen reason,” Jarvis said. “Does this mean you will allow me to take you to Captain Rogers?” 

“No, it means it’s time for you to take a little nap,” he said, and pressed his metal hand against the wall, triggering an EMP pulse through his arm. The lights flickered and went out as soon as it went off. “Jarvis?” he tried. 

When there was no response, Bucky reactivated the safety on the pulse generator and replaced the panel on his wrist. Then he quickly resumed climbing. If Tony was anything like Howard, it wouldn’t take him long to get the power up and running again. 

He probably only had about five minutes, which meant he had one shot at guessing which floor his book was on. 

So he continued climbing up, heading all the way to the top.

* * * * *

Tony was still searching for any sign of Bucky, and Steve was sitting beside him, still in his suit from the press conference. He watched Tony work, feeling useless. Natasha’s plan was good, but it was no guarantee. Bucky was still too far out of reach, and he felt like he was ready to crawl out of his skin.

“Do you believe in fate?” Steve asked quietly. 

“Fate is for suckers,” Tony told him. “Things happen when you make them happen.” 

“How else do you explain this?” he asked. “Me and Bucky both ending up here, after everything?” 

“You ran in the same circles, both ended up getting super-soldiered,” Tony said. “You both knew my father. My father apparently had a spare cryo-chamber just lying around. Things happen.” He paused, glancing at him distractedly. “What’s this really about?” 

“When I saw that picture of him, I was just so happy…and even now, knowing what was done to him, I’m still happy he’s here,” Steve said. “What kind of person does that make me?” 

“I’m going to go with human-person,” Tony said. “It definitely makes you a human-person.” 

“Tony, I’m serious,” Steve snapped. “He went through hell, was tortured for decades, and I’m still so goddamn grateful just to have him here. Who would be grateful for this?” 

Tony gaped at him. “Did you just use the lord’s name in vain?” 

“This is why Nat and I don’t invite you to the heart-to-hearts,” Steve said, glaring over at him. 

Tony held up his hands. “Okay, fine, you want some serious advice? I’m guessing you want to think it’s fate because you don’t want to think it’s because of you.” He shook his head, glancing towards another screen. “Not how it works, Cap. I can’t tell you he’s not here because of you, because you’re a big part of it. And I'm guessing you’re only here because of him—wouldn’t have been Captain America without him, not really, am I right? You can trace everything back to a thousand tiny, insignificant decisions, and things might be different if you changed any single one of them.” 

“I’m not going to be signing you up to give pep-talks any time soon, either,” Steve decided. 

“My point is this,” Tony said, stopping what he was doing to turn and look at him, “you didn’t ask for this. You didn’t plan this. And I’m guessing you’d have done just about anything to keep that from happening to him, am I right?” 

Steve sat up straighter, glaring back at him. “Of course! I’d trade places with him in a second.” 

“Right. So there you go. You want to analyze every little thing to see how things might be different? That’s not going to help your friend. It’s not going to change anything at all.” Tony shrugged. “Way I see it, you should be happy to have him back. After what he’s been through, I think he deserves to have someone that’s happy to see him.” 

“I guess I didn’t think of it like that,” Steve said, settling back in the chair and glancing at Tony in surprise. 

“Pepper says I’m very insightful,” Tony said. 

“Pepper has never said that,” Steve denied with confidence. 

“I may have said it to her,” Tony admitted. “Look, just, stop overthinking it. Your friend is alive, against pretty much all odds. This is one of the better days. Count it as a win.” 

“I will when he’s here,” Steve said tiredly, running a hand down his face. 

“We have an intruder in the lobby elevator,” Jarvis reported. 

“Jinxed it,” Tony told him, before returning his attention to Jarvis. “Is it Barnes?” 

“Facial recognition has been unsuccessful thus far,” Jarvis reported. “He is entering the elevator shaft. He does not seem hostile, but also does not seem inclined to stop his progress.” There was a pause. “I believe him to be Sergeant Barnes.” 

“Jarvis?” Tony started. “Got confirmation on that?” 

“I can confirm,” Jarvis said after another pause, and Tony glanced up at Steve to find the other man was coiled like a spring. 

“Cap?” Tony said, glancing up as Steve bolted to his feet. 

Steve barely made it a step when the power cut out, the lights and computers blinking out all at once. Tony turned back to his computers in surprise, grateful there was still enough natural light from the windows to allow him to work. “Christ, I’m gonna kill this kid,” he muttered. “What is with the wanton destruction? First my suit, now my Jarvis?” 

“Tony,” Steve snapped. 

“What? Too soon with the death threats?” he asked. “Can I at least put the kid in a time out?” 

“Bucky and I are both old enough to be your father,” Steve reminded him. “Why do you keep calling him ‘the kid’?” 

“Cause if it looks like a kid, and it acts like a kid, it’s a kid,” Tony said, as he opened a panel on one of the computers, cataloguing the damage. “Scary assassin kid, maybe, but still a kid. And how about we don’t ever talk about you being old enough to be my father, ever?” he added. “For reasons too numerous and disturbing to list.” 

“You’re the one that likes to bring up my age,” Steve reminded him. “Anyway, we knew Bucky would come to try and get back the book. That was the point.” 

“Yeah, but I expected we’d _catch him_ , or he’d just, you know, turn up and say, hey, I’m your old war buddy you thought was dead, can I have my book?” he snapped. “I wasn’t prepared for an attack this sophisticated. It took you six months before you could work a smart phone.” 

“I wasn’t trained to be an assassin for Hydra,” Steve said grimly. “We should have expected he would come here with a few tricks up his sleeve. This is on us.” 

“Yeah, okay, maybe,” Tony said. “Also, I should probably just stop inviting dangerous people to come visit me at home. You’d think I’d of learned that lesson already.” 

“Technically, I invited him,” Steve pointed out. “You can make sure he doesn’t leave the building, right?” 

“Right now? There’s not much I could do to stop him. I don’t know how the hell he did it, but he just set off a low level EMP through this entire building,” Tony said tightly. “Luckily it wasn’t powerful enough to do permanent damage and my systems have some protections against EMPs, but it doesn’t mean they didn’t still take a hit. I need to switch to backup systems. Jarvis is gonna be offline for another six minutes at least. No eyes on him till then.” 

“He said he was in the lobby elevator, where does it go?” Steve asked. 

“Straight to the penthouse,” Tony said distractedly. He glanced back over at Steve in concern, wishing Natasha wasn’t still at SHIELD doing her spy thing. “Maybe I should get my suit and come with.” 

“Just get the power back up and running,” Steve said, heading for the door. “I’ll find Bucky.” 

“Steve!” Tony called. “He’s not coming here as your friend, or he wouldn’t have knocked out our power. He’s just here for the book. He might not even know you.” 

“He will,” Steve said firmly. 

Instead of heading towards the elevator, Steve took off for the stairs. Confronting Bucky in an elevator shaft was a disaster waiting to happen, and he had a feeling Bucky would be heading to the penthouse. After all, that’s where they’d left the book.

Because they wanted him to find it. They wanted to give it back. 

Natasha had explained to him exactly what that book would mean to Bucky, and that if he mentioned it in his public appeal, he would almost have to come to search it out. “It’s like it's a key," she had said, her tone level and grave. “To someone he doesn’t ever want unlocked.” 

He stepped out into the penthouse silently, his heart pounding as he saw Bucky standing beside the bar, rifling through Tony’s torn-up college backpack. 

Natasha was rarely wrong about these things. 

Even though the power was out, the walls on this floor were all glass, and the sun lent an almost otherworldly glow to Bucky. It had been so long since he had seen him in anything but the black and white photos at the Smithsonian that it sort of took his breath away. He took a cautious step closer, and Bucky went still. 

“It’s all there,” Steve told him quietly. “It’s yours. We didn’t mean to take it from you.” 

Bucky spun around, and the look he threw him was wary and a little wild. Steve clenched his hands to fists, anger at what had been done to his friend rushing through his veins like a new brand of adrenaline. 

Bucky was never supposed to look at him like that. 

He wanted to hunt down every single one of them that had taken Bucky, that had hurt him, and make sure they could never hurt anyone else. Then he took note of the metal prosthetic that was Bucky’s left hand, and it made him angry all over again.

Bucky staggered back a step, dragging the backpack with him by its remaining strap, and that’s when Steve realized that Bucky might not realize that his rage was not directed at him. 

“No one is going to hurt you,” Steve said quickly, trying to get a hold on his own anger. He placed his hands out, trying to show that he meant no harm. He was glad to see that Bucky didn’t seem to have any weapons of his own, which was good considering how deadly he was with a gun. 

But Steve had seen the kind of damage he could do now even without one. 

“Do you know me?” Steve asked. He reached back to pull down his cowl, revealing a mess of blond hair and sad, earnest eyes. 

Bucky watched him with almost no recognition. “Saw you on the news,” he said flatly, before glancing to the side. 

Steve followed his gaze and saw Tony carefully entering the room. He should have known Tony would follow him, and he was grateful he at least wasn’t wearing the suit. Things were tense enough as it was. 

“What about me? You know me?” Tony asked glibly, “the guy whose toys you keep breaking?” 

“You’re Howard’s son,” Bucky said levelly. “And you took my stuff.” 

“Uh, technically, that backpack was mine first,” Tony said. “And I just go by Tony these days.”

“Tony,” Steve started anxiously. 

Tony ignored him, keeping his eyes on Bucky, curious and determined. “You had to know the power wouldn’t be off long, right? It’ll be back in three-two-one—“ Tony started, and the lights flickered back on. “There we go. Neat little trick, though, you pretty much left us blind. Very clever. How’d you do it?” 

Bucky turned, eyes flickering between the doorway to the stairwell and the elevator behind him, judging the distances, and Steve felt his heart constrict. He opened his mouth to call to him, but Tony got there first. 

“Jarvis,” Tony called, “Initiate lockdown.’ 

“Lockdown initiated,” Jarvis informed them politely. 

“Wait—“ Steve protested quickly. 

“This was a trap,” Bucky realized, as he switched his glare between Steve and Tony. Bucky wasn’t exactly surprised—he’d known this was a trap going in, after all—but for some reason it still felt like a betrayal. “You set me up.” 

“No, no it isn’t, I promise! We just—“ Steve began earnestly, but Bucky didn’t wait around to listen. 

He spun and ran the opposite direction of the exits. For a moment, Steve couldn’t figure out where he could possibly be going. 

Then his heart practically stopped when he realized Bucky was heading straight towards the glass door that led to Tony’s ridiculous high-rise landing. He was moving to stop him before he even knew what he was doing, but Bucky had too much of a head start. 

He slammed his metal first right through the glass without even stopping, shattering it and then running right over the pieces. He just missed the grip of Steve’s outstretched fingers as the other man reached out to try and tug him back. 

Bucky ran full out right to the edge of the landing, and then went straight off in a leaping jump. He barely made it to the next building over, his toes catching on the ledge. He pushed himself forward in a roll, getting his balance back on the roof and continuing to run the moment he pushed back to his feet, tightly gripping the backpack in his right hand. 

He glanced behind him just in time to see Steve landing behind him in a graceful roll onto the roof, not even nearly tumbling off the ledge like him. _Show off._

“Wait,” Steve called, rushing after him. 

Bucky kept running, judging the distance to the edge, calculating the angle for the jump, and then: 

“Bucky!” 

Something in the way his name was said, in the voice that said it, sent his heart stuttering in his chest and had him freezing—unable to make the next jump. It was as though the anguish in that voice was something he'd been hardwired to want to stop. He turned carefully, balancing his sneakers atop the thin ledge, and throwing the remaining strap of his backpack over his right shoulder. Steve was watching his feet with one of his hands held out, like he desperately wanted to reach out and tug him back from the edge.

“Please, stop running,” Steve said. “Please, Buck, just—“ 

_Buck._ Only Steve called him Buck. Buck or Bucky and never James. 

Bucky swallowed hard, and winced as a memory hit him, a small blond kid that kept getting into fight after fight, and he would drag the others all off him only to always receive the same reply: _I had him on the ropes_. He could the words echoing in his own voice, and he could hear it in Steve’s voice, and he wasn’t sure which was real. 

Steve was watching him with wide eyes, dark circles underneath them speaking to a very long time with little to no sleep. It took a lot of sleepless nights to leave a mark on men like them. “Do you remember me at all?” 

“You’re Steve,” Bucky said roughly. “But I remember you smaller.” 

Steve choked on the air, huffing out a desperate laugh. “I was,” he said. “I got bigger.” 

Another flash of memory hit him and he adjusted the grip on the backpack as he stumbled. He could see Steve above him, dragging him off a cold table, leading him out, to safety. He remembered laughing with him over campfires even though it was freezing cold and marking up maps and sharing a compass and always, always, having his back. It seemed like a dream. He tried to grasp the memories as they flittered through his mind, but he couldn’t quite hold onto them. 

Bucky glanced back behind him, judging the distance to the next roof. He knew he’d never make the jump without a running start, and Steve took another step forward, one hand cautiously outstretched. “Please don’t.”

Bucky looked back at Steve, considering his options. Sam would say to trust him—but Sam had invited an amnesiac assassin to the stay the night. Sam’s judgment was obviously not to be trusted. 

“So you know me, but do you know who you are?” Steve asked after a moment, slowly getting closer. 

Bucky stepped to the side, still balancing on the thin ledge, and Steve immediately stopped his own approach. “Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes,” Bucky recited from his broken memory, but Steve was astute enough to recognize that wasn’t actually an answer so much as a deflection. 

“Yes,” he agreed, sounding hopeful anyway. “That’s right.” 

Bucky’s options for getting out of here weren’t great. He hadn’t seen Iron Man coming after him yet, but that might not be the case for long. He didn’t have any weapons, and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to use them against them anyway. 

He glanced back at Steve, ready to try and come to some kind of compromise, some way to at least keep himself from getting locked up back at Avengers Tower, but the moment he saw Steve’s eyes he knew something had changed. 

Something had gone very, very wrong, because the blood had all drained from Steve’s face and he looked absolutely terrified. 

“Bucky, get down—“ Steve shouted urgently. 

Bucky looked down to see a small red dot placed right at the center of his heart. A sniper had him in his sights, and there was no cover on this roof—and if Steve got in the way… Bucky steeled his resolve, and then he stepped backwards. He could survive the drop, it was even something of a talent of his, but he might not survive the bullet. So he went right over the ledge before they could take the shot. 

Then he was falling, and he was mentally working out the best way to land when Steve jumped after him. He flew towards him in a controlled dive until they crashed together, and then spun them around so he would take the brunt of the fall. They were hitting the ground before Bucky could even try to move them back around. 

The air was knocked out of him on impact, but Steve taking the brunt of the fall had left him without any broken bones. His eyes widened as Steve started groaning beneath him, uncurling from his shield, which he had tried to use to break his own fall. 

“Have you lost your fucking mind?” Bucky shouted. “What the hell did you do that for?” 

“I wasn’t going to let you fall without me,” Steve said breathlessly, and though Bucky couldn't quite recall a single conversation between them, the stubborn set of Steve's jaw was achingly familiar. “Not this time. Not ever again.” 

“I’ve survived worse. I knew what I was doing,” Bucky told him, rolling off Steve and glancing up at the buildings, seeing if he could spot the sniper. He was pretty sure they had landed outside of his line of sight, but there was no guarantee there was only the one. 

“So did I,” Steve told him. 

He looked back at Steve with a frown as he uncurled and forced himself to his feet. He looked like he’d broken or bruised some ribs, at the very least, but broken ribs had never slowed down Bucky too much. He imagined they’d slow down Steve even less. 

“You alright?” Bucky asked gruffly. 

“We just fell off a forty story building,” Steve said, holding a hand to his chest as he glanced up. “Alright might be optimistic.” 

“God, you’re such a punk,” Bucky snorted, before dropping down beside him. Steve looked up at him with such hope and longing that it made him feel like an imposter. He sighed, and glanced away. 

"You jumped first," Steve pointed out. "I'd really rather you didn't do that again."

"Seemed like a good idea at the time," Bucky said, as he held out a hand and then dragged Steve back up his feet. “And I’ve already been shot once this week, didn’t feel like doing it again. You were just being reckless.” 

Steve frowned, looking disgruntled. “Well, if you don’t want me jumping, don’t jump first,” he said. “Cause I’m with you, till the end of the line.” 

Bucky stumbled back from him like he’d been struck, his eyes going wide. He could hear that same line echo in the back in his mind, in his own voice. He could see Steve in front of him, but so much shorter, looking at up him with a small grin. It was the strangest thing: to feel like he knew this man down to his very core, even as he couldn’t recall more than a handful of facts about him. 

“Pretty sure that’s come and gone,” Bucky said softly.

“No, no, Buck,” Steve said, frowning worriedly. “You may not remember who you are, or who I am, but that doesn’t mean you’re not still you. If you just come with me, I’ll—“

Bucky secured the backpack over one shoulder, and watched Steve warily. "I'm not going back there,” he interrupted. Steve looked crushed, and Bucky had to harden his heart against some buried instinct to _fix it_. 

“I’ve already got everything worked out,” Steve assured him. “Nothing is going to happen to you if you’re with us. The whole world knows who you are now. It’ll keep you protected.” 

“Yeah, well, sorry to tell you, pal, but that plan sort of backfired,” Bucky snorted.

“I think it worked pretty well,” Steve protested, his tone unapologetic. “You’re here.” 

“And now instead of trying to catch me, they just want me dead,” he said simply. 

Steve let out a shaky breath as he put it together. Bucky was sure he would have figured it out sooner if he wasn’t so emotionally compromised—just more evidence he shouldn’t have come here in the first place. He was always causing damage, even when he wasn’t trying to. “Why would they risk killing you now?” he asked. “They won’t be able to cover it up anymore.” 

“Doesn’t matter. I know all their dirty little secrets,” Bucky shrugged. “If they can’t have me back as their asset, you can be damn sure they’re not gonna let anyone else have me, either.” 

“That’s not going to happen,” Steve said firmly, his voice like steel. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” 

“Well, that’s not actually up to you,” Bucky told him. Steve watched him stubbornly, and Bucky knew instinctively the other man was not going to see reason. “I’m not going with you,” he insisted anyway. “That’s what they’ll expect.” 

“If you think I’m ever letting you out of my sight again,” Steve told him flatly, “you’re in for a surprise.”

“You’re so dramatic,” Bucky muttered. “ _That_ I remember.” 

Bucky was so distracted—was he emotionally compromised, too?—that he didn’t even notice the danger until Steve was shouting his name, and throwing him his shield in a quick, seamless move.

It was like recalling the steps to a well-known dance. Bucky caught the shield easily and lifted it just in time to catch the bullet. The shield flattened it instead of sending a ricochet, and Bucky didn’t waste any time in retaliating. He continued in a spin, and then let the shield fly. It spun up to the corner of the building behind them, hitting the sniper hard enough to send him tumbling over the edge. He landed with a disconcerting crack at the other end of the ally, just as the shield made it back into Bucky’s hands. 

A forty-story fall was a little different for a normal person than it was for them, so Bucky was pretty sure the sniper wouldn’t be getting up again any time soon. Or ever. 

“We’ve got to get out of here,” Bucky said, as he ran his eyes over the body. “He was part of a Hydra Strike team. There’ll be three more.” 

“No, not Hydra,” Steve said with a frown, stepping up to join him. “He’s SHIELD.” 

“Same difference,” Bucky told him, as he lightly tossed the shield back to Steve. 

Bucky stepped over to the sniper and casually pulled the rifle from his hands. It was a nice model, and it felt a little too right in his hands. He leaned up against the corner, glancing around to see if they’d attracted any attention, but no one seemed to be paying any attention. He supposed once you’d gone through an alien invasion, a sniper and a couple super solider weren’t quite as noticeable. He still reached back to grab Sam’s hat, and put it back on. 

“Where are you going?” Steve demanded worriedly, reaching out to clutch at Bucky’s arm. 

“I already told you, I’m not going back with you,” Bucky said again, but then he tossed Steve a little smirk. “But you can come with me, if you want.” 

“I’d follow you anywhere,” Steve promised. “Just try to stop me.” 

“Pretty sure I already did,” Bucky said, with a flicker of a grin. “But we’re not going anywhere with you dressed like that. I can’t believe you kept the outfit. You do know it’s the 21st Century?” 

Steve looked down at himself. “You told me you liked it,” he said. 

Bucky laughed, and shrugged out of his pea coat. “Not quite sure how I would have managed that with a straight face,” he said. “The blue’s nicer, though. At least you lost the stripes.” 

Steve took the coat when Bucky held it out, but it didn’t do too much to disguise him. It was a little tight and his legs and boots still pretty much announced to the world who he was. Bucky just gave a put-upon sigh as he looked him over. 

Steve would have been offended if he wasn’t so ridiculously grateful for every little sound he made. 

“I guess it’s the best we can do for now,” Bucky decided, before turning and heading towards the street. He glanced back. “You coming?” 

Steve started after him at once. “Where are we going?” 

“I’m done playing defense,” Bucky decided. “We’re gonna pay a little visit to the man that made me.” 

Steve stumbled to a stop, staring after Bucky with wide eyes. “Zola?” he asked. “He died a long time ago. Trust me, I checked, because I really wanted to have that pleasure myself. He’s dead, Bucky.” 

“Yeah?” Bucky just shrugged. “Well, so were we.”


	6. the computer

Bucky had stuffed the rifle in his backpack, hiding the muzzle in the crook of his metal arm, but they were still drawing far too much attention. No one had started snapping pictures yet that he’d seen, but they were getting a lot of second glances. 

He led them back to where he’d parked the Beetle, and wasn’t exactly shocked to find it was still there waiting. He slid towards the driver’s side door and opened it, quickly leaning in to check the keys were where he’d left them. 

Steve stopped on the other side. “This is your car?” he asked skeptically. 

“Sort of,” Bucky told him, before glancing up at him through the window. "You want to maybe get in before people start asking for your autograph?"

Steve was holding his shield with the painted side to his chest, but he was basically a total disgrace as an undercover agent. For some reason, that felt familiar to Bucky. He didn’t think this was a new development. 

He dropped into the driver’s seat as Steve got in beside him, pushing his shield into the space behind them. Steve frowned at the curious onlookers half stopping along the sidewalk to turn back and watch. “Bucky,” he said nervously. 

“Yeah, I see ‘em,” Bucky said, wasting no time in reversing out of the spot and pulling out into the road. “I’d say we should ditch the car next city over, but I don’t think we have that kind of time. We need to move quick if we want to get there first. Hydra’s not stupid, so I can’t afford to think I’m that many steps ahead of them.” 

“Where are we going?” Steve asked with a frown. 

“Little base in New Jersey,” he said. “Repurposed, supposedly by SHIELD, actually by Hydra. It’s Zola’s base of operations. Not sure he’ll still be there, but…” Bucky trailed off for a moment. “He certainly wouldn’t have been easy to move.” 

“I still don’t understand,” Steve said. “I mean, I know we’re supposed to both be dead too, but how can he still be alive? Did he experiment on himself?” 

Bucky snorted. “Yeah, you could say that,” he agreed, as he took them out onto the highway. “He was dying, so he downloaded himself into a super computer. Hydra's been using him like their very own Magic Ball ever since.” 

“He’s a…computer,” Steve said with a frown, then just gave a resigned sigh. “I don’t think I’m ever going to get used to the future.” 

“I don’t know how you remember the past, but it doesn’t seem so different to me,” Bucky said. “Nazi’s had disintegrating ray guns in the war, and look what was done to you.” He reached out and flexed his left his hand. “Then there’s this. I’ve had this since…since I woke up, the first time. Decades ago.” 

Steve went quiet for a moment, watching him carefully. “How much do you remember?” 

“It comes in flashes,” Bucky admitted, frowning a little as he used the road as an excuse not to meet Steve’s eyes. “Most recent stuff, first. I don’t know how much you know about my time with Hydra, but I haven’t…I haven’t been doing much good for awhile now.” 

“I read it,” Steve admitted. “The book, I mean. None of that is your fault, you know that, right? The things they did to you—“ His words cut off with a held back sob, though his expression gave nothing of his distress away. “That wasn’t you.” 

"When'd you learn Russian?" Bucky asked curiously, finally glancing over at him. 

Steve gaped at him. "That's what you get from that—?” he asked. He shook his head in frustration. “You’re more you than you realize.” 

“Just having a hard time imagining you putting everything into Google Translate,” he shrugged. 

“Google What?” Steve frowned. “No, I mean, someone read it to me. A friend.” 

Bucky tightened his grip on the steering wheel, hard enough that something slightly cracked. “Natalia Romanova,” he snapped in realization. “You let a Widow read it? Christ, Steve, do you have any idea what’s in that thing? It was bad enough when I thought it was just you and Stark.” 

“Natalia?” Steve echoed. “You mean Natasha? You know Natasha?” 

“I know _of_ her,” Bucky corrected. “Obviously, we were never active at the same time, but she made quite the reputation for herself while I was in cyro. Not to mention, she sort of made a splash when she fought at your side in an _alien invasion_.” 

“Yeah, but the world knows her as Natasha Romanoff,” Steve pointed out. 

“I may be a little while out of the game, but I’ve still got sources. Enough to know that she’s an assassin, and one of the best,” Bucky said. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m an assassin too, so not really in a position to judge, but it’s also why I know better than to trust her.” 

“I trust her,” Steve said firmly. “She’s helping me. Tony, too. They’re my friends, and if I thought they would hurt you even for a second, I wouldn’t have let them anywhere near this. But they wouldn’t. If I could just—“

“No,” Bucky interrupted. “You want to stick around for the ride, okay. I trust you.” He winced. “Sort of can’t not trust you, really. So you’re okay. But I’m not working with them.” 

He glanced at Steve, waiting for his assent, and frowned when he saw the small black phone he was fiddling with. “You’ve got a phone?” he asked incredulously. “Where did you even hide it in that suit? You know what, never mind. Doesn’t matter.” He reached out and grabbed it, rolling the window down at the same time, then tossed it out into the road. 

“Bucky!” Steve cried, and he glanced back to watch it get crushed by the car right behind them. 

“Those things can be tracked,” he told him unapologetically. 

“Not that one,” Steve protested, glancing back behind them with a frown. “Tony set it up to be untraceable. I wouldn’t have kept it otherwise.”

“Untraceable,” Bucky snorted. “Dollars to donuts, Stark could track you in five seconds flat. He probably already has.” 

“Stark is a friend,” Steve insisted. 

“Stark was a probable recruit when I went under,” Bucky told him, his voice strained. “It seems unlikely he’s working for Hydra considering his actions in recent years, but I’d rather not take the chance. I don’t want to get in another confrontation with Howard’s son.” 

“He’s going to worry,” Steve sighed. “He gets…destructive, when he worries.” 

Bucky glanced over at him. “You don’t have to come with me, you know,” he said kindly. “This isn’t your fight.” 

“If you’re in a fight, that makes it mine,” Steve said. “You used to say that to me, whenever I got mad that you stepped in to keep me getting my ass kicked. Well, it’s as true for me as it was for you.” 

“Then we do it my way,” Bucky said, turning back to the road. “It’s me they’re after. I’m the one that’s got the most to lose.” 

“That’s not true,” Steve said softly. “Because I could lose you.” 

Bucky smiled sadly. “I’m hardly a prize,” he said. “I don’t even really remember you, so I’m not the person you knew. Not really. And it’s not like I was saint, anyway, back before everything.” 

“You were a hero,” Steve insisted. “You _are_. And all the rest of it, that wasn’t you. Those deaths are on the men that were using you, it’s not on you.”

“It’s not that simple,” Bucky said quietly. “I mean, I know it wasn’t me, but it _was_. I remember it. It was my hands. Can’t just pretend it didn’t happen, just cause it’s not something I would have chosen.” He let out a breath. “Besides, it’s not just that, it’s before. I remember the war, too. I remember the things I did there, and I haven’t got any kind of excuse for it. That was all me.” 

“Bucky, you killed in the war, we all did, but you were never a killer,” Steve said. 

“But I remember—one of the first things I remembered, was training to be a sniper. Not with Hydra, but with the army,” Bucky said. “You know what my first instructor told me back at boot camp? He said, ‘son, you’re a natural born killer.’ He said it because the first time they put a gun in my hands, I hit every target. They sort of sped me through my training after that, made me Sergeant. The rest, as they say, is history.” 

Steve watched Bucky sadly, and had to remind himself not to reach out. “You never told me any of this.” 

“That sort of makes me think I shouldn’t be telling you now,” Bucky frowned, though he wasn’t sure why. What would it matter? It was over now. 

“No, it’s more…I never really asked,” Steve said, swallowing hard. “I don’t think I really wanted to know what you had been through without me, I just wanted to focus on having you back. So I never asked, and you never said.” He looked over at him. “Truth is, you were always the strong one, Buck.”

“Pretty sure you’ve got me beat these days, buddy,” Bucky said wryly. “I’d have at least broken a few bones if I’d hit the ground first, you sort of just walked it off.” 

Steve winced at the thought, his hands clenching in his lap. “That’s not the kind of strength I mean,” he said. “Sometimes I see all those monuments they’ve built for me, and I just feel like a fraud. Because I wouldn’t have been anything, without you.” He turned to look at him. “You always protected me, but I never took care of you the way I should have. Even once I was strong enough…I just didn’t know how. You’d spent so may years taking care of me that we fell into old habits, and you ended up watching my back when I should have been watching yours.” 

“I know, I mean, I know I don’t remember everything,” Bucky said, and looked back at him. “But I remember enough to know we were supposed to be watching each other’s.” 

Steve went still, realizing the truth of it. “We were,” he agreed softly.

“Good. Cause if you ask me,” he shrugged, “that’s the way it should be.” 

Steve nodded, just turning to watch Bucky watching the road, still not quite sure how to believe he was he really here. 

This time, Steve vowed, he was going to hold up his end of the bargain.

* * * * *

They had lapsed into a comfortable silence for the rest of the drive, Steve sensing that Bucky wasn’t really comfortable with all the questions that he didn’t always know how to answer. Steve had kept his questions to himself, and hadn’t asked for more specifics about where they were going.

So when Bucky pulled the Beetle to a haphazard stop right outside an expanse of aged wire fence, he was a little caught off guard. 

“This is Camp Lehigh,” Steve whispered.

“Yeah, you know it?” Bucky asked. 

“It’s where I was trained,” Steve said. 

“Carter,” Bucky said, grinning slightly. “Who knew she was so sentimental. Definitely don’t remember _that_ , not about her.” 

“What?” Steve asked, turning to look at him with a frown. He shrugged out of the pea coat, and left it on the passenger seat when he got out of the car. 

“This was SHIELD’s original base of operations,” Bucky explained, as he slipped out of the car. “Don’t think it’s a coincidence. Do you?” 

“No,” Steve realized. “But, Bucky, this place looks abandoned.” 

“Hydra stopped being flashy after they lost the war and Red Skull,” Bucky told him, as he pulled his backpack from the car. “Whatever else he is, Zola’s always been brilliant. He made Hydra covert, and far more effective.” 

Steve was still trying to wrap his mind around Hydra having infiltrated SHIELD, but Bucky seemed to take it just as a fact of life. Bucky glanced warily around them as he stepped towards the fence, then tugged open his pack and ripped out a patch on the inside of it. He roughly pulling out the stitches to reveal a small flash drive. Bucky glanced up and noticed his surprise. 

“I guess you didn't really search this all that well, huh?” he asked with a smirk. 

Steve grimaced. He wanted to tell him that they hadn’t really _looked_ , but it wouldn’t be entirely the truth. They just hadn’t thought there might be anything concealed. They kept underestimating him, and Steve, of all of them, should know better. “Buck—“ 

“It’s fine, Steve,” Bucky said. “It’s best you didn’t find it, anyway, cause I need it.” 

“You’re not going to…you know…put Zola on there, are you?” Steve asked with a frown. 

Bucky blinked at him for a moment, and then he burst out laughing. Steve knew it must be at his expense, but he didn’t _care_ , because he hadn’t heard that laugh in years—four by one reckoning, seventy by another—and it was so much more than his memory had held. Bucky had always had such a contagious laugh, and it had become even more precious those years in the war, when it had all but stopped. 

“Guessing that’s a no?” Steve said, smiling softly. 

“Yeah, that’s a no,” Bucky agreed, as he pulled the remaining backpack strap over his head and right arm so that it went across his body. “Even if I _wanted_ to, which, what the _hell_ , Steve, he wouldn’t exactly _fit_. This thing can only hold a Gigabyte, so I’d only need, oh, about a couple thousand more of ‘em, just to start.” 

Bucky tightened the backpack strap until it was secure, and Steve suspected he wasn’t planning to let that thing out of his sight any time soon. But to Steve’s surprise, he left the rifle in the car.

Bucky noticed his glance, and shrugged. "It's not a great close range weapon, and I don't think anyone's here."

“If this is where Zola is kept, wouldn’t there be security?” Steve frowned. 

“Defense systems are fully automated,” he explained, as he stepped up to a gate. He easily snapped the padlock into two pieces with his metal hand, then tugged it open. “Very few are even cleared to know that this place exists, so active guards on the payroll would be a liability.” 

Steve followed him with a frown, something worrying in the back of his mind. “Then how do you know about it?” he asked softly. 

“He liked to see me,” Bucky said, his voice going stiff. “I was his creation. He would have me brought in every few years and he’d ask me questions. Wanted to know if I remembered him. Wanted to know if I remembered you.” 

“What did you tell him?” Steve asked. 

“I would tell him I didn’t,” he said flatly. “Because I didn’t.” 

And he’d never quite understood why that would always make Zola laugh. 

“Come on,” Bucky said, glancing behind him to make sure Steve was beside him. “Zola likely already knows we’re here. We need to move.” 

He led the way to a weapons facility that was in the wrong place, and straight back to a false wall. Steve watched in admiration as he punched in a code from memory, and led them into an elevator. “What exactly is the plan here?” Steve asked, as they started moving down. 

“Zola’s going to give us the names of the Hydra operatives within SHIELD,” Bucky explained. “We need to know who the head is before we can cut it off, and most of my intelligence is about twenty years out of date.” 

“You really think he’ll talk to you?” Steve asked. 

“Won’t be able to help himself, I was always his favorite,” Bucky said, his voice carefully emotionless. “But that’s not how I’ll get the information. He’s a computer. Computers can be hacked.” 

Steve stared at him at wonder. “How do you…I mean, how do you know how to do all this?” 

Bucky adjusted the backpack uncomfortably. “It wasn’t often, but there were times I would be utilized for espionage,” he explained. “They trained me on their systems. I’m a little out of my league with the more recent stuff, but this technology is from the seventies. Zola used to say upgrading would cause degradation he couldn’t afford, so if it’s still here, it’s nothing I can’t handle.” 

The elevators opened into a large, dark room. Steve fought the urge to keep Bucky behind him as the other man stepped out ahead of him, and followed instead, gripping his shield at the ready. 

Bucky walked across the center of the room like he was tracing someone else’s steps, and the lights began to flicker on around them. A large computer display was set up right in front of them, and Bucky approached it, flipping the flash drive in his hand before sticking it into a hub sitting beside the keyboard. 

Then he started typing commands onto the keyboard, his fingers, flesh and metal alike, deftly move across the keys with almost eerie accuracy. He automatically kept his left hand raised just a little higher than the right, so the less dexterous fingers made gentler contact with the keys. 

Then the screen lit up: Initiate System

Bucky quickly typed in: Yes

“Sergeant Barnes,” Zola greeted almost at once, his mechanized voice tinged with such pride and fondness that Bucky’s skin began to crawl. He wasn’t sure how they had managed to catch his inflections quite so well through the outdated processors. “My greatest creation.” 

He shook off his unease, ignoring Zola, and continued working at the keyboard. He hijacked only one of the monitor displays, allowing Zola to continue flashing his propaganda across the rest of them. It meant it took him a little while to realize something was wrong. 

“What are you doing?” Zola asked, a strange hesitance entering his voice. 

“You’ve been inside my head,” Bucky told him calmly, “only fair I get a look inside of yours.” 

“Stop it at once, Solider,” Zola commanded. 

Bucky slipped through the password encryption. This computer wasn’t an ordinary computer, it had files sectioned off and protected, pieces of a mad genius brain cataloged and scattered across countless hard drives. But he also had to be able to take in new information, to gather and analyze current events, so there was a shared drive buried somewhere beneath the workings of this computerized mind. 

It didn’t even take Bucky all that long to find it. 

“Steven Rogers, the great _Captain America_ ,” Zola said, trying another route. “I am surprised to see you here, with your enemy. He is not one you should trust. Or do you not know what my solider has done?” 

“I know what he’s done,” Steve said, unbothered. “I know what you’ve done, too.” 

“Me?” Zola asked. “I have been cultivating peace, Captain. I have been bringing structure to this chaotic world. My solider has helped. He is so good with following orders.” 

“Yeah?” Bucky muttered. “Ask me again to stop, see what happens.” 

He found the file he believed was a list of active Hydra agents, which was good, but it was heavily encrypted, which was bad. It wasn’t something he would be able to handle on his own, and he wasn’t actually sure if _anyone_ could break it without the encryption key. Chances were, it was set to self-destruct upon any tampering. 

Which meant he had to figure out who had the encryption key, and that meant switching over to his rather risky Plan B. He considered asking Steve to start heading out without him, before tossing the idea aside. Steve would never go, and he couldn’t waste time arguing. 

Instead, he copied the whole thing to his flash drive and moved on to the next set of data. 

“You always were such a clever boy,” Zola told him. “I did sometimes wonder if it was hubris, that had me choosing you. I was so certain I could mold you. There were so many other broken soldiers I could have taken instead that would not have fought nearly so hard—but then, I suppose there is a reason you were the only one of my subjects to survive. That fighting spirit; such a double-edge sword.” 

Bucky felt Steve stiffening beside him, his fists clenching, ready for a fight. He ignored the taunts himself, because he knew he was already running out of time. 

“Do you remember our time together now, my soldier?” Zola continued. “Do you remember how we met? You were always so exquisite in your pain, my perfect soldier. Where the others all broke you would simply bend.” 

Steve stepped up beside him, and then threw a punch at the main monitor, cracking the screen. Zola’s garbled image disappeared, and Bucky raised an eyebrow. 

“Really?” he asked, exasperated, before turning back to his own screen. “That’s not gonna hurt him.” 

“It made me feel better,” Steve told him petulantly. 

“Such a temper,” Zola chided. “Red Skull wanted you so badly, but I always knew our target should be Sergeant Barnes. He is not so easily drawn into a fight. So much more adaptable. You are a relic, Captain. You are—“ 

“I would shut off your audio, but it’s not worth it,” Bucky broke in dryly, as he continued working at the keys, sorting through and copying over the files to his flash drive. “It’s not like it’s going to work, anyway. Nice try, though, with the villainous soliloquy. Points for the effort.” 

“What?” Steve asked, glancing at him in confusion. “What isn’t going to work?” 

“He’s trying to distract me, and he’s stalling,” Bucky said, his voice strangely toneless. “He doesn’t think I know that he just sent out a signal and requested an air strike at our location.” 

Steve straightened, instantly on alert. “Who did he signal?” 

“SHEILD,” Bucky answered calmly. 

“Yes, they are coming. If you run now, they will not harm you when they come, my Soldier,” Zola told him. “They will still take you back. It’s far past time you returned home.” 

“You think you’ve gotten one over on me, but I wanted you to send that signal,” Bucky said, flicking a glance back towards the camera. “I wanted to know who was important enough to know about you, who you had a direct line to, and now I do.” 

The screen flickered, and there was a moment of strange silence. “No, you—“ 

“Steve and I can survive a little explosion, but you sure as hell won’t,” Bucky said. “You asked me if I remembered you. Well, I do. What was it you used to say to me, back at the beginning? _You’re only hurting yourself_.” 

“Sergeant Barnes,” Zola said quietly, his voice vibrating slightly, emotion causing a quirk in the sound quality. “Sergeant, please, there is still time—“ 

“Buck, we’ve got to go!” Steve shouted. With his hearing, he could just make out the near silent sound of an approaching Quinjet. 

Bucky didn’t look at him, trying to transfer the last file. “Almost there,” he promised. “Just one more—“ 

“We’re out of time,” Steve snarled. He reached out and grabbed Bucky around the waist, spinning him around and pushing him ahead of him and to a grate. Bucky just barely managed to reach back and tug the flash drive free before Steve had them half across the room. 

Steve ripped one of the grates free from the ground, and then he was pulling Bucky down, and pushing the shield up to protect them both. Bucky lifted his left arm to protect them on the other side. 

Then the entire building started to collapse around them. 

Steve held onto Bucky, trying to shield him as much as he could, and let out a breath when the shaking finally stopped. “And you call me reckless?” he grumbled.

He felt his heart stutter when he didn’t get a response. He turned to check on Bucky and his head had fallen to Steve’s shoulder, blood matting his hair and half his face. “Bucky?” he asked, his voice cracking. He dropped the shield and reached up to grip Bucky’s face. 

Bucky groaned but didn’t open his eyes. Steve forced himself to take a deep breath. Bucky healed like he did, and Steve could fully recover from a hit to the head in less than half a day. He didn’t have time to check him over here, not when there would undoubtedly be a Strike team coming to check the wreckage. 

He put his shield at his back and then reached out and lifted Bucky up into his arms, climbing over the fallen debris until they reached the surface. He glanced back towards the crater that was Camp Lehigh, and then ducked through the fence gate to carefully lay Bucky down on the other side of the Beetle. It wasn’t the best protection, but at least it would provide Bucky with some cover while he went to deal with the Strike team. 

“Steve?” Bucky groaned, reaching up to catch Steve’s wrist just as he started to head back. 

“Stay here,” Steve told him. “I’ll be right back.” 

Steve carefully pulled his wrist free and then stalked around the Beetle, tugging his shield from his back. He could see the Quinjet that had landed on the other side of the wreckage, through a hazy curtain of fire and smoke. There were four men he could see, all wearing masks with rifles, heading out in all directions. 

It would be best for him to wait until they each went their own direction, so he could take them out quietly one on one, but he couldn’t risk losing track of any of them and having them discover Bucky. He would have to act fast. It wasn’t like he hadn’t fought more than this many men at once before. 

He gripped the shield and started forward, but before he could even draw their attention, there was the subtle sound of a gun firing through a silencer. The two to the left of the Quinjet fell in quick succession, and a crack appeared on the forward window of the jet as the pilot tipped over to the side. The two on the other side fell together, a single bullet going through one and then out the other. 

Steve swallowed hard, and then turned around. Bucky was laid out across the roof of the Beetle, his rifle held steady in front of him, his eye to the scope. 

He’d just taken out a five man team with only four bullets and what was likely a hell of a headache. 

It was a little like looking back in time, to Bucky from the war. Back then, so many people had compared Bucky to Captain America and found him lacking. Steve and the Howling Commandos alone had known that Bucky could be the most dangerous of all of them. He could take out entire Hydra teams before they even knew he was there. 

Steve forced himself from the memory when he saw Bucky stumble as he slid off the car. He rushed back, reaching out to catch his shoulders just as he started to list to the side. Steve frowned as he held him upright against the car. 

“Did I get them?” Bucky asked, his voice slightly slurred. 

“Yeah, you got them,” he assured him. Steve brushed back his hair, frowning at the deep wound on his forehead. It had already stopped bleeding as heavily, but even with his advanced healing it looked like it might need stitches so it would heal right. He checked Bucky’s pupils, and frowned when the other man didn’t seem able to focus on him. “How did you even manage those shots with a concussion?” 

“M’fine,” Bucky muttered, but his eyes were unfocused, and his breathing was hitched. It took Steve a moment to recognize the pattern, but it sounded like he was falling into a panic attack. “I—“ Bucky started, but couldn’t seem to form the words.

“Bucky, Bucky, please, you’re scaring me,” Steve said. “Please say something.” 

“I’ve just started to remember,” Bucky said, his voice catching. “Not just flashes, but—“ 

“What?” he asked worriedly.

This time, Bucky was the one looking at him like _he_ was a ghost. “Your mother’s name was Sarah,” he whispered, as he hesitantly reached out to brush his fingertips across Steve’s cheek. “You used to wear newspapers in your shoes.” 

Steve’s breath caught in his throat, and he gently leaned forward, touching his forehead to Bucky’s, mindful not to touch the open wound. “Bucky.” 

“I remember,” Bucky admitted breathlessly. “I remember you.” 


	7. the drive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was getting so long that I had to split it in half, and pretty much all the action ended up getting moved to the next chapter. So this is sort of an interlude with just lots of Steve and Bucky feels and dialogue. Also, my AU version of Ex-Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes is apparently a bit of a sarcastic little shit and mischief maker. I didn’t entirely plan this, he just sort of took on a life of his own. Steve’s got his hand’s full, for certain. But I’d sort of like to think this would be Bucky if he had just a few less horrors in his history.

Bucky and Steve basically used to share their personal space. They were always touching, since they were kids. A hand up, a hand on the shoulder. Bucky would swing his arm over his shoulders, and Steve would nudge him with his when they walked down the street. After Steve received the serum, they’d had to regain their equilibrium, but it hadn’t taken them long. It was just that then Steve would throw his arm over _Bucky’s_ shoulders, or they’d sit beside each other when they sat watch, touching along their sides from their shoulders to their knees. 

Since the rooftop, Steve had been so grateful just to have Bucky back that he hadn’t noticed before how off they really were: without Bucky’s memories, without _touching_. At least, he didn’t until Bucky had finally remembered and then refused to let him go. 

Bucky had actually dropped the rifle—Bucky was _never_ careless with his weapons—and then hugged him, and Steve had been helpless to do anything but hug him back. They had a dead Strike team laid out behind them like fallen dominos and the smoking ruins of a secret base smoldering off to the side, but that all sort of paled in comparison to the fact that _Bucky remembered_. 

He could feel Bucky shaking slightly in his arms as his hands gripped the back of his Captain America uniform as though he thought he might disappear. “Bucky—“ he started reluctantly, casting a wary glance behind them. 

Bucky didn’t release him, but he did pull in a shaky breath and lift his head. “I hope you know I’m gonna kick your ass later for that stunt you pulled with the building,” he told him. 

Steve gaped at him. “Seriously?” he demanded. “That’s what you—you just let a super computer bomb our location!” 

Bucky stepped back, letting him go reluctantly, and frowned at him. “Yeah, but I didn’t really remember you then,” he said. “If I had, I would have made sure you were outside first!” 

“Not actually better, Buck,” Steve sighed, before picking up the rifle and herding Bucky to the passenger side. “Come on, get in. We need to get out of here.” 

“I should drive,” Bucky protested half-heartedly, his eyes still unfocused and a little too bright. “You’re a menace behind the wheel. I don’t think you’ve driven once we didn’t end up crashing into some building.”

“Yeah, but it was always on purpose,” Steve reminded him reassuringly, as he bundled him up in the seat and forced him into his seatbelt despite Bucky's muffled declarations that he could do it himself. Steve slipped the shield and rifle behind the seats and then rushed back around to get into the driver’s seat and pull away. 

He didn’t think they would be sending another team so soon, but it was better not to risk it, and the smoke from the ruins of the base would get attention one way or another soon enough. 

Bucky was reaching out and grabbing his sleeve the moment he was back in the car, and Steve looked over at him in concern as his friend tugged at him urgently. “Oh, shit, Steve, I just remembered. We gotta go to D.C.,” Bucky told him urgently. “Steve, we—“ 

“What?” Steve asked, his forehead creasing into a frown. "No, we need to get you back to Tony. He’ll be able to arrange help for us.” 

“I followed the signal Zola sent,” Bucky said. “It went to the office of Alexander Pierce. He’s one of the heads.” 

“The Secretary of Defense?” Steve asked incredulously. 

“Yeah, I think so,” Bucky said, unsurprised by the heights that Hydra had managed to reach. “He’s based out of the Triskelion, anyway. We gotta—“ 

Steve thought about it for a moment, but shook his head as he pulled them back on the main road. “No, I need to get you somewhere safe first, and get you checked out.” 

“I’m fine,” Bucky insisted, even as he tipped to the side, letting his head drop against Steve’s shoulder with a forced casualness that Steve didn't buy for a second. 

“And don’t go to sleep,” he told him, worried about the way Bucky had slumped against him, though he didn’t want him to move away. “You’ve got a concussion.” 

“Could someone with a concussion take out an entire Hydra Strike team?” Bucky asked. 

“If that someone was you? Yes. I mean it, Buck,” he said firmly. “I used to let you get away with not getting checked out all the time. You acted invulnerable and had me half-convinced you were. I’m not taking you for granted anymore.” 

“Sort of was invulnerable, though,” Bucky pointed out. “Except my arm. That’s pretty dead.” 

“Bucky—“ Steve sighed. 

“Okay, look, I know a guy in DC,” Bucky told him. “He checked out my bullet wound, think he’s got some kind of medical training. We can stop there and see if he’ll help, if it’ll make you feel better.” 

“That’s not exactly encouraging,” Steve frowned. “‘Some kind of medical training?’ You’ve got—“ 

“Take it or leave it, Steve,” Bucky told him drowsily. 

“Okay, fine,” Steve said, resigned. “What’s the address?” 

Bucky sleepily pulled a phone from his pocket, and programmed the address into the GPS. “There,” he said, setting it between them. 

“How come you get to keep your phone?” Steve said petulantly. 

“Cause mine actually is untraceable,” Bucky told him. “And if Stark tries anything, it’ll self destruct.” 

“They can do that?” he asked, looking at it warily. 

“Old Hydra trick,” Bucky admitted. “Modernized it a bit.” 

Steve glared at it for a moment, but decided to trust that Bucky knew what he was doing. Bucky had always been clever with machines, and now he also had all the knowledge Hydra had forced on him. Instead, he returned his concern to his friend. Bucky hadn’t released his grip on his sleeve, and had slumped further against him. 

“Hey,” Steve said worriedly. “No sleeping, remember?” 

“Not sleeping,” Bucky told him, but he didn’t sound altogether convincing. 

“So, why don’t you talk to me, then? How much do you remember?” Steve asked him, looking back at the road. “Do you remember how we met?” 

“Was there a fight?” Bucky asked, frowning. 

“Yeah,” Steve said, grinning slightly. “You’d gotten cornered by these two bullies, they were a couple years older. You had stood up to them when they were picking on some of the other kids, so they thought they’d teach you a lesson.” 

“Oh, yeah!” Bucky said, laughing as he tilted his eyes up. “I think that was the last fight I ever got in that you didn’t start. Until the war, anyway.” 

Steve ignored him, but his own grin got a little bit bigger. “I came to rescue you,” he said. “And you've been rescuing me ever since.”

“The looks on their faces!” he cried, laughing brightly. “You were half their size! But you were fucking fearless, Steve, always were.” 

“Language,” Steve chided. 

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Everyone cusses these days, haven’t you tried cable TV?” he asked him. “You gotta get with the times, pal.” 

“Some things I want to hold onto,” Steve said quietly. 

“You’re such a sap, Rogers,” Bucky told him fondly. 

“Go ahead and get some sleep, Buck,” Steve said gently, careful not to dislodge him. “I’ll just wake up every few minutes to make sure you’re okay.” 

“I remember how bossy you are, too,” Bucky told him, but closed his eyes anyway.

* * * * *

For the rest of the drive, Steve insisted on waking him up constantly and prodding him with needlessly complex questions like: _what year is it?_ and _who is the president?_

And Bucky would give answers like: _what kind of question is that for someone that's been stuck in cyro, you punk?_ Or _I didn't magically start caring about politics when I woke up._

And Steve would smile dopily and decide: _yep, you're fine._

They were finally nearing D.C. the last time Bucky woke up, and he had let go of Steve and pushed himself up before slumping instead against the car door. Part of Steve wished he'd stayed where he was, but Bucky's eyes were clearer and it looked like he might have already shaken off the concussion, so he wasn't going to regret it. 

"It's my turn," Bucky decided, glancing back at Steve slyly. "I've got questions for you."

"Okay," Steve said warily. "The President is Matthew Ellis—“

"Yeah, don't care, they're all the same," Bucky said dismissively, waving a hand between them. "What have you been doing?"

"Me?" Steve asked in surprise. 

"Yeah, Rogers, who do you think?" he said, rolling his eyes. "You've been back two years, right? Well?"

"Uh..." Steve started. "Well, there was an alien invasion—“

"I'm not asking about the stuff I could read about in the newspaper," Bucky told him. "What have _you_ been _doing_?”

"That is what I've been doing, Buck," he admitted.

“Have you done anything but work since you were found?” Bucky asked him, his voice going strangely flat.

Steve set his jaw and wouldn't look at him, which meant he didn't want Bucky to know the answer to that, but couldn't lie to save his life, so he was just going to ignore him.

“God, Steve—“ A sound was escaping Bucky's throat before he could stop it, something between a gasp and a sob, and Steve glanced towards him with wide and worried eyes.

"No, Buck, it's fine," he quickly assured him. "I'm fine."

"Who's been looking out for you?" Bucky demanded softly. 

"Natasha and Tony," Steve told him. 

"The Widow and Iron Man?" he asked. "Steve—“

"I know you don't trust them, but they're my friends," Steve said stubbornly. "They make me watch movies. And Nat always texts me pictures of kittens with little captions on them."

Bucky’s worry lessoned slightly and he broke out into a grin. Steve returned it automatically, as easily charmed by Bucky’s smiles as he always had been.

"You've got the Black Widow sending you kitten memes,” he laughed. “That's like the best thing I've ever heard. I think I might actually like her."

"She's more than her past, Bucky," Steve told him.

"Hey, I didn’t say she wasn’t. And if you say we can trust them, then I trust them. Mostly," he added quickly. "I will mostly trust them, at some unspecified future date.“

“Thank you,” Steve said, smiling over at him. “I think.” 

“You've gotta live a little though, Stevie,” he frowned. “I mean, we both got a second chance, against all odds, and now here we are, living in the time of Netflix, and you're still just picking fights!” 

“Netflix?” Steve echoed with disbelief. “How do you already know about Netflix? I just found out a couple weeks ago."

“I borrowed a laptop, they were still signed in,” Bucky explained. “I kind of had a lot of time on my hands. _I_ didn't jump right into handling an alien invasion my first week back in the world."

“It was the second week,” Steve told him, somehow completely earnestly, “and why do you say that like it's my fault? I didn’t cause an alien invasion.” 

“I didn’t say it was your fault,” Bucky assured him quickly. “But you're a trouble magnet, Rogers.” 

“Me? I’m—what about _you_?” he snapped. “You were just shot! You jumped off a building! You got us _blown up_!” 

“You make some fair points, but hey, I was staying out of trouble till I got caught on camera," Bucky insisted. "Two months, no problems. That's more than twice as long as your best trouble-free run."

Steve pursed his lips at the reminder of how long Bucky had been in hiding. He glanced over at him quickly. “Why didn’t you come to me?” he asked. “I would have—I mean, I would buy you all the laptops and Netflixes that you want. You just had to come find me.” 

“It wasn’t that easy,” he explained, as he turned to look out the window. “I remembered you a little, but not Captain America. I couldn’t get you to mesh right in my head. I didn’t know who to trust. So I didn’t trust anyone.” 

“What about the guy we’re going to meet?” Steve asked, as he pulled over to the side of the road, parking the car. They were a couple of blocks from the address Bucky had given him. Considering the Beetle’s borrowed status, they would need to walk the rest of the way. “You trust him?” 

“I sort of just…accidentally trusted him, I guess,“ Bucky admitted. "Think he reminded me a bit of you."

Steve let out a breath and nodded. “You gonna be able to make the walk?”

“I’m good,” Bucky assured him, glancing out the window. “Dark enough even you shouldn’t attract too much attention, but you might want to put the coat back on.”

Steve grabbed the coat and his shield as Bucky tucked his rifle into his backpack. Steve made sure to stay close as they started to walk, but Bucky didn’t even seem to be stumbling. Steve wasn’t used to people healing as quickly as he did, and the fact that Bucky seemed to was both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, he never wanted Bucky to be in pain _ever again_ , but on the other, his friend seemed even more careless with his own safety than he had during the war. 

And he knew exactly how hypocritical that line of thought of was—he just didn’t care, because this was _Bucky_. 

“I can _feel_ you worrying, Steve,” Bucky said wryly. 

“Not worried. Just…cautious,” Steve said. “Why don’t you tell me about your friend?”

“His name’s Sam Wilson,” Bucky told him. 

Steve waited for more, but nothing else came. “And?” he prompted. 

“And he lives in D.C.,” Bucky told him. “What, you want his entire biography?” 

“How well do you actually know this guy?” Steve demanded, as he came to a stop. 

“Uh, well, we sort of spent the night together,” he explained. “And he didn’t try to kill me. So, that pretty much makes him my next best friend after you, if you take into account the behavior of everyone else I know.” 

Steve just stared him down. “You spent the night together?” he echoed disapprovingly. 

“Yeah,” Bucky said, before realizing what Steve thought. “I mean, we didn’t sleep together, if that’s what you’re thinking. I slept in his spare room. Not that he’s not attractive, but I’d just been shot, so…” Bucky smiled at his wittiness, but Steve’s eyes just narrowed further. 

“You wouldn’t come find me, but you went home with some stranger, while you were _shot_ —“ he started. 

“Are we really going to do this in the middle of the street?” Bucky asked. 

“We’re talking about this later,” Steve snapped, before tugging him back down the road by his hand.

“Look, come on, Steve, we can trust him! He’s a vet, like us,” Bucky told him, as he let himself get pulled along. “He works at the VA Center, pretty sure he’s one of the good ones.” 

“Why didn’t you lead with that?” Steve demanded. 

“I don’t know, it’s sort of fun riling you up,” Bucky told him, grinning back at him. “And I haven’t gotten to do it in like seventy years.” 

Steve wanted to be irritated, but he was finding it almost impossible in the face of Bucky’s grin. He knew he was in trouble. At least before he’d been able to hold his own against Bucky’s mischief—he used to be one of the only people actually capable of saying no to him, not counting both of their mothers—but he was sadly out of practice. He’d probably do anything, just to keep him happy, and that was sort of terrifying. 

“Let’s just keep moving,” he said, not releasing his grip on Bucky’s hand. He pulled him along behind him, and it wasn’t much longer before they reached Sam’s house. Despite Steve’s concerns, it looked like a nice place, and it was certainly not going to be on SHIELD’s radar. “You sure about this?” 

Bucky nodded and tugged free, before pushing past him to gently knock on the door. Sam opened it a moment later, flashing him an aborted grin when he noticed the wound on his forehead. 

“Hey,” Bucky said, smiling as innocently as he could, blood-splattered as he was, “you still got that spare room?” 

Steve stepped up beside him, looking a little sheepish, and Sam turned to take him in with wide eyes. “Is that Captain America?” he stage-whispered to Bucky, obviously trying to play it cool. “Cause that looks like Captain America.” 

“Well, it’s Steve Rogers, anyway,” Bucky told him, glancing behind him with a fond grin. “He just wears the costume for kicks.” He looked back at Sam. “We might be in a bit of trouble.” 

Sam frowned as he looked back towards the gash on Bucky’s forehead. “You better get inside, then,” he said, ushering Bucky and Steve inside before closing the door behind them. “You want to tell me what happened?” 

“Someone put a hit out on me,” Bucky said casually. “Cause _someone_ decided to tell the world I was alive.” 

“I’m not sorry about that,” Steve said stubbornly. “If I hadn’t, you’d still be trying to handle this all on your own.” 

Bucky just shrugged. “Honestly, I prefer this to them trying to capture me, anyway,” he said, before turning to Sam. “But you deserve to know there’s no small danger in harboring us.” 

“I finished the season finale of Blacklist like two weeks ago, I’m overdue for some excitement,” Sam assured him, before watching Bucky closely. “So I guess you’ve remembered some things?” 

"If you're going to say I told you so—“ Bucky heaved a sigh. 

“I wouldn’t,” Sam said, before flashing a grin. “But I did, didn’t I?” 

“Yeah, okay, you told me,” Bucky said, glancing over at Steve with a grin. “Wouldn’t change it, of course, but things are going to be a lot more complicated now—my cover’s blown, and we’ve lost the element of surprise. Captain America here has been getting us in trouble since 1923, and he hasn’t changed much from what I can tell."

“You really expect me to believe Captain America’s the troublemaker of the two of you?” Sam asked him skeptically. “He’s _Captain America_.” 

Bucky turned to Steve disbelief. “Why does everyone seem to think you're a saint?” 

“Well—“ Steve started, flushing slightly. 

“You used to start bare-knuckle fights in back alleys just cause some guy talked too loud in the movie theater. When Barney Meyers gave me a black eye, you literally threatened to kill him in his sleep,” Bucky said dryly, before turning back to Sam. “And he just jumped off a forty foot building!” 

“You have to stop bringing that up!” Steve protested. “I only did that because you jumped first!” 

“Wow,” Sam said, considering Steve. “I’m having flashbacks to my mom asking me if my friends jumped off a bridge, if I would too. I was always like hell no, but you actually did it.” 

“It wasn't a bridge,” Steve said sullenly. “It was a building. And he got us blown up!” 

“I don’t know whether to feel like I’m suddenly running a halfway house for Super Soldiers or a Daycare,” Sam said, crossing his arms and looking at them disapprovingly. 

Bucky just threw him a smirk, which was mischief incarnate, and Steve gave a shy little grin, which Sam was starting to suspect amounted to pretty much the same thing. He sighed as he went to grab his med kit. “You,” he said, pointing at Bucky, “go sit down so I can get a look at your head.” 

Bucky dropped onto the barstool beside the kitchen counter, and Sam watched them intently as they seemed to move in weird sort of synchrony. Steve reached up automatically to brush back the hair that had fallen over Bucky’s wound and hold it out of the way.

“The way you heal, I don’t see any point in stitches,” Sam told him, “but I’ve got some butterfly bandages that should hold this together.” He pulled them from his kit, and laid five evenly spaced bandages across the gash. “That should do it. You gonna tell me how you got that?” 

“I actually did sort of get us blown up,” Bucky admitted. “But it was for a good cause.” 

Steve removed his hand from Bucky’s head, letting his hair fall back down to obscure the bandages, snorting at the understatement. He wasn’t too upset with Bucky for taking that crazy chance, mostly because he hadn’t entirely been Bucky at the time. But he had his suspicions that this Bucky would have done the exact same thing, he just would have made sure Steve was stashed somewhere safe first. 

He looked over at Sam then, who seemed sort of effortless in his own handling of Bucky. Steve used to have to fight every time in order to get Bucky to let him help bandage anything up. “Bucky tells me you have medical training,” Steve said curiously. 

“Does he?” Sam said, raising an eyebrow at Bucky. “Cause I never said that.” 

“Didn’t have to,” Bucky said, looking back at him. “Field medic?” 

“Pararescue,” Sam corrected. 

Steve straightened up. “I’ve heard great things about the Pararescue,” he said, fighting off the ingrained urge to shoot off a salute. “Thank you for your service.” 

“Yeah, well, it was awhile ago,” Sam said. “I’ve been out of the game.” 

Bucky tapped his fingers against the flash drive in his pocket, not wanting to push the hospitality of their host, but anxious to check what he had managed to remove. “I feel a little awkward asking, since the last thing I borrowed from you got lost in an explosion somewhere,” Bucky said, thinking of the hat that he'd gone into the base with, but had sort of just been gone when he woke up, "But do you have a computer I could use?” 

“Yeah, but I need my computer a little more than the hat,” Sam said, narrowing his eyes. “So don’t blow it up.” Sam disappeared down the hall, and returned with two sets of clothes and a small silver MacBook. “I thought you might want to clean up,” he offered. 

“Once we get this figured out, I’ll make sure you’re compensated for your help,” Steve assured him formally. 

“Nah, man, that’s not why I’m doing it,” Sam said. “But now I’m gonna go try and get some sleep. Bucky knows his way around. Pretty sure he mentally mapped the place out last time he was here.” 

“Guilty,” Bucky admitted, as he reached over to snag the laptop from Sam. 

Bucky pulled open the laptop, disabling the wifi in case there are any built-in commands or viruses slipping into the file. He wanted to make sure they couldn’t actually be sent out. He could probably disable them, but better safe than sorry, and if there’s no way to send the signal, then there’s no signal. 

“Shower is second door on the right down the hall,” Bucky told Steve, as he continued to try and Hydra proof the laptop as much as possible before putting in the flash drive. “You should grab a shower and get out of that uniform. I think it’s starting to become its own life-form.” 

He looked up when he realized that Steve hadn’t moved, and Bucky found him watching him anxiously. "I'm not going anywhere, Steve," he promised. 

“Okay,” Steve agreed softly, before disappearing down the hall. 

Bucky pulled the flash drive from his pocket, and plugged it in. The files he copied over didn’t seem to have any malicious programs, but they were also heavily encrypted. The only information he could get at all was from the file names, some of which were enticingly obvious: Personnel list, Project Insight, and The Winter Soldiers. 

The use of the plural on the last file was more than a little concerning, but he wasn’t going to be able to glean anything else from it for now. He wasn’t trained for decrypting at this level, at least not within this century, and he suspected the files were set up to not to allow an attempt. 

“Find anything?” Steve asked, as he dropped onto the stool beside him. His hair was wet, and his t-shirt looked to be at least two sizes too small. Bucky glanced him over, still not quite used to seeing him like this. The bulk of the memories that had flooded his mind after the explosion were from before the war: a lifetime up against a couple years spent on the front lines. He was still trying to make sense of it all. 

“No luck,” Bucky told him, glancing quickly away again. “I can’t decrypt these files on my own, it’s way outside of my skillset.” 

“We could reach out to Tony,” Steve offered cautiously. 

Bucky shook his head. “This would take even Stark months to decrypt safely, in the best case scenario,” he said. “We need the decryption key.” 

“You got a plan for that?” Steve asked carefully. 

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “Alexander Pierce.” 

Steve looked resigned, but nodded. “Let’s talk about it in the morning, okay?” he said. “You’re still healing. You need to get some sleep.” 

“I’m fine,” Bucky said. 

“You're not fine,” Steve said impatiently. 

“Well, I am pretty tired of being told what I am,” Bucky snapped. 

Steve went pale, his eyes widening in horror. “Bucky, I didn’t mean—“ 

“It’s fine,” he said, closing his eyes and then dropping his head. “Im sorry, it’s fine. We're fine. I’m fine. Really.” 

"You've said ‘fine’ about five times in the last minute,” Steve told him gently. “In my experience that means you probably aren’t.”

“Your experience with trying to convince people you're fine?” Bucky asked, a little more vindictively than he meant to. 

“Mostly,” Steve admitted sheepishly.

That startled a laugh out of Bucky, and he looked up at Steve like he couldn’t believe he was really there. “God, I’ve missed you,” he told him. “I didn’t always know you were there to miss, but I missed you anyway.” 

“Nothing about this world has been right,” Steve said, swallowing hard. “I’ve been—I’ve been trying not to think about you. I’ve been trying to pretend it’s really been the full seventy years, that you died so long ago. But it hasn’t been that long for me, and I just felt like I’d been ripped in half. Like only part of me ever woke up here.” 

“Steve,” Bucky said, his voice breaking. He’d read about Captain America’s suicide mission, but at the time there had been no context. It had just been abstract words about a war hero that had tried to give his life to save the world. Knowing what he knew now, he couldn’t think about it without feeling a blind panic start to build up in his chest. 

He reached out put a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “I know I’m a little late,” he said. “But I’m here now.” 

Steve surged forward, pulling him into a hug. Bucky didn’t startle at his touch, some ingrained knowledge in the back of his mind automatically including Steve within his personal space. “You should probably shower too,” Steve finally said, a moment later, as he dusted something off Bucky’s shoulder. “You’ve still got blood and bits of building all over you.” 

Bucky rolled his eyes, slipping free. “Yeah, I can take a hint,” he said. 

“You okay to shower on your own?” Steve asked in concern, glancing at his head in concern. 

“Are you really going to make us have the ‘I’m fine’ conversation again?” Bucky asked dryly. Steve held up his hands in surrender. “Spare bedroom, first door on the left,” he told Steve as he grabbed the clothes from Sam and headed off. 

He showered and dressed in the clean clothes quickly, before slipping into the spare room. Steve was already there, staring at the small full size bed with a frown. He looked at Bucky in concern when he walked in. 

“Do you want me to sleep on the floor?” Steve asked. 

Bucky just rolled his eyes. “I used to practically sleep on top of you at camp during the war, you were like my personal heater,” he said. “And how many times did we share a bed before that?” 

“I know, but—“ Steve trailed off. “It’s not very large. And I’m a bit bigger now.” 

“It’s fine with me if it’s fine with you,” Bucky said after a moment. “But if you try to sleep on the floor, so am I.” 

Steve gave him a half-hearted glare. “Why are you so stubborn?” he demanded. “Just this once, can’t you let me take care of you?” 

“No,” he told him simply. “We sleeping on the bed or the floor?” 

Steve sighed but climbed into the bed, so Bucky dropped down beside him. For a moment they just laid there, both of them straight out, not touching. Then Bucky turned his head to the side, and reached out to carefully entwine the fingers of his right hand with Steve’s left. 

“I might not be fine,” Bucky admitted, after a pause. 

“You will be,” Steve promised, and gently squeezed his hand.

Steve laid there awake for a long time after Bucky’s breathing leveled out, a little worried about the lengths he was prepared to go in order to keep that promise.


	8. the interrogation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone's still following this, sorry for the long, long delay! I just meant to take a short side trip into Winteriron, and it sort of got a bit out of hand. I never stopped working on this one though, I just might be a bit slow (okay, glacial) with updates. 
> 
>  
> 
> NOTE: Russian dialogue is in *asterisks*.

This time he trusted Sam, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever actually _stopped_ trusting Steve, so he didn't barricade the bedroom door. This was a mistake: he'd forgotten, for just a moment, how many other people there were in this world that he couldn't trust. 

He was moving before he was fully aware of what he was doing, tugging the knife from beneath his pillow and flipping it into his opposite hand. The room was in darkness, but he didn’t need to see clearly to know where to hit. He caught the intruder by the neck, and then they were falling together and hitting the ground hard. 

Steve turned on the beside lamp and looked down at them like a disapproving parent might his children, apparently unconcerned by their unexpected guest. 

“Seriously, guys?” he muttered. 

Bucky glanced down and recognized the Black Widow. Natalia Romanova. She had one leg wrapped around the back of his thigh, and her other around his waist, pinning him rather effectively to the small gun she held pressed against his heart. He had his metal hand at her throat, with his other holding the knife pressed right against the femoral artery in the leg she’d twisted around his waist. 

It was pretty much a state of mutually assured destruction. 

“Winter Soldier,” Natasha said calmly. “You’re quick.” 

“You’re not so bad yourself, Natalia,” Bucky said. 

“I go by Natasha,” she said.

“Yeah?” Bucky asked. “I go by Barnes.” 

Natasha loosened her grip on the gun, letting it spin in her hand until it was pointed down, and then held her hands out carefully. “Barnes,” she allowed. “You want to maybe put the knife down?” 

“Bucky,” Steve sighed, as he slid off the bed and moved towards them. “She’s a friend.” 

Bucky flipped the knife in his hand, twisting it to point away from her, even as he continued to eye her warily and didn’t release his light hold on her throat. “Friends don’t knock in this century?” he asked. 

Steve reached out and grabbed Bucky’s metal bicep, easily tugging him off of Natasha and back behind him, before frowning as he caught sight of his knife. “Where did you even—is that one of Sam’s steak knives?” he asked incredulously. 

Bucky shrugged. “He’s got like ten of them,” he said, unconcerned. 

There was a crash as the bedroom door flew open, and Sam rushed into the room, holding a baseball bat. “What the hell—“ he started, before his eyes widened when he saw Natasha. “Oh, hey, you’re—“ He glanced back at Steve and Bucky with wide eyes.

Bucky broke out into a huge grin. “Did you come to save us?” he asked. “With a baseball bat?” 

Sam narrowed his eyes. “I did,” he said, letting the bat drop to his side. “Can’t quite recall why at the moment.” 

Natasha eyed him with approval as she gracefully got to her feet. “It’s not the weapon, Barnes, it’s how it’s used,” she said, grinning slightly. 

“Pretty sure from his stance he doesn’t know how to use it, either,” Bucky told her. 

“I can’t remember why I ever liked you,” Sam told him. “I’m sure you used to be nicer.” He waved his hand at him. “You were all innocent and lost like a puppy dog."

“I’ve been getting my memories back,” Bucky told him, as though it explained everything, which it actually mostly did. He dropped to sit on the bed. “Also, I suspect you’re going to be taking Steve’s side over mine.” 

“That’s cause he’s _Captain America_ ,” Sam protested. 

“Oh, you’ll learn,” he snorted. “Just you wait.” 

“Guys, can we focus?” Steve asked gently. “Pretty sure Natasha didn’t come here for this.” He glanced over at her. “Speaking of, how did you find us?” 

“Fuck,” Bucky cursed as he realized the answer, and he dropped his head into his hands—partly in frustration, and partly so he wouldn’t have to see Steve’s disapproving glare at his use of the word ‘fuck.’ “Stark put a tracking device on the backpack. Of course he did. And after I gave Steve a bad time about not searching it properly.” 

“He’s been monitoring the situation,” Natasha agreed wryly. “We were all a little concerned when SHIELD bombed your location, but all Stark found when he checked it out were some dead Hydra moles.” 

“So they were SHIELD agents?” Steve asked, frowning. 

“Supposedly,” Natasha said. “But they were definitely double-agents, and they weren’t authorized to be there on any official record.” 

“You say that like official records mean something,” Bucky said dryly. “I think we all know that they don’t.” 

Natasha spared him an amused glance, before turning most of her attention to Steve. “Well, it doesn’t matter. That’s not why I’m here. We’ve got a problem,” she said. 

“Only one? Cause that would be an improvement over the last couple of days, honestly,” Steve said, shaking his head in frustration. “Nat, just tell us what’s going on.” 

Natasha glanced at Bucky, and spoke in Russian. "*You sure you want to do this in front of slugger over there? Maybe you should ask him to step outside?*”

Bucky glanced back at Sam, then turned to raise an eyebrow at Natasha. “*I trust him more than I trust you'*" he told her simply. 

Steve frowned at them, but Natasha just shrugged, and dropped to sit on the chair in the corner of the room. "They tried to kill Fury," she told them. "He managed to get away clean, but he had to go underground."

“Why would they go after Fury?” Steve asked. 

“They know you and Barnes are working together, my guess is they think it’s under Fury’s direction,” she said. “Steve…I had to read him in. He’s with us. Hill, too.” 

“You should have waited for me,” Steve said, glaring over at her. “We still don’t know that we can trust him.” 

“This isn’t just about Barnes anymore,” she said carefully. “We don’t have a lot of choices here. If we don’t do something—it won’t just be us that suffers.” 

“What do you mean?” Steve asked. 

“Something big is in the works, and has been for awhile,” Natasha said. “Hydra’s been fortifying their forces from _within_ SHIELD, and it’s not for anything good. They have an end game.” 

“You’re talking about Project Insight,” Bucky guessed. 

“How do you know about Project Insight?” Natasha asked warily, glancing over at him. “Haven’t you been in the deep freeze for the last twenty years?” 

“Natasha!” Steve snapped. 

Bucky just watched her easily, then shrugged. “I’ve got my sources,” he said. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” 

“Fine. Yes, I’m talking about Project Insight,” Natasha admitted. “Three helicarriers were commissioned for the project. Ostensibly for keeping the peace, but supposedly it's a little more sinister than that. They're meant to be preventive, using some algorithm to stop crime _before_ it happens. But even Fury doesn't have that details around how that's actually going to work, and the more we learn about it, the more it looks like Hydra has been behind this project since the start.“

She leaned back against the wall, and crossed her arms. “The good news is, they’re nowhere near ready to launch the program,” she said. “The bad news is we’re now a threat to its completion, so we’ve pretty much all made the top slots of their hit list.” She cast a passing glance at Sam. “Well, except for you.” 

Natasha glanced back at Bucky then, watching him speculatively. “Now, show me yours.” 

“I know that there’s a project, and it’s called Insight,” Bucky told her, and flashed her a seemingly innocent grin. “It’s the file name of one of the documents I managed to grab. Can’t actually read what’s in it though, cause it’s encrypted.” 

“You played me,” Natasha said, and narrowed her eyes. 

“Pretty sure you let me,” he told her. 

Natasha grinned slightly, dropping her arms to her sides and stepping forward. “You are nothing like Rogers,” she said. 

“Why do I feel like I’m being insulted?” Steve sighed. 

“Not an insult,” she said, still smirking at Barnes. “Just an observation.” 

“I wasn’t lying, though,” Bucky told them. “I do have some sources. I was able to get some more recent contacts from some documents I got from an old handler, and from raiding a few known Hydra drop points. He was checking into the Avengers for me.” 

“You were investigating _us_?” Steve asked in disbelief. 

"I didn't know what side you were on,” Bucky admitted, glancing at him apologetically, “considering who you were working for.”

“SHIELD?” Natasha asked.

“SHIELD has been corrupted by Hydra since long before I went under,” Bucky told her. “I don’t doubt there are loyal people working there, but by this point my guess would be they’re in the minority.” 

“That would be our guess, too,” Natasha admitted. “And it goes all the way to the top. SHIELD has already been turned against us.” She glanced at Steve. “They’ve marked us as traitors.” 

“They’re gonna try to paint Captain America as a bad guy?” Sam asked incredulously. “No one’s gonna buy that.” 

Bucky just let his head drop into his hands, running them across his face as he realized what they probably meant to do. He glanced up at Steve. “If I was still with Hydra when you found me, would you have taken me out?” he asked. 

“What? No, of course not,” Steve said fiercely, glaring back at him. “How could you even think that?” 

Bucky just shook his head. “And there we go,” he said, waving a hand in Steve’s direction. “Captain America is now a traitor, aiding and abetting a terrorist fugitive.” 

“Shit,” Sam said. “Okay, yeah, _that_ people may believe.” 

“They don’t have to make you the bad guy,” Bucky sighed, looking back to Steve. “They’ve just got to show people who I really am, and the rest will follow.” 

“They’ll try,” Natasha agreed, “but I don’t think they’ll succeed. I don’t think any of us counted on the type of reaction your resurrection was going to cause.” 

Bucky frowned at her. “What are you talking about?” 

“You’re a hero, Barnes,” Natasha said, flashing a brief, crooked grin. “People are concerned for you. They’ve been waiting to hear that you’re okay. Steve laid the ground work, and the Avengers gave a press release going into an overview of exactly what was done to you. I said they’ve marked us as traitors, I didn’t say I thought it would work. And I think they know that, because so far they’re keeping it confidential within SHIELD.”

“Then we should go to the public,” Steve said, looking back at her. “I can hold another press conference.” 

“No,” Bucky said, frowning. “We do that and we lose the element of surprise.” 

“We don’t have the element of surprise,” Natasha said dryly. “They’re already after us.”

“Yes,” Bucky said. “But they don’t know we already know who’s calling the shots.” 

“You been holding out on me, Barnes?” she asked slyly. 

“Alexander Pierce,” Bucky told her simply. 

Natasha stared back for a moment, her eyes flickering briefly to Steve, before nodding stiffly. “That’s gonna kill Fury,” she said. 

“He’s not really the one I’m looking to kill,” Bucky told her calmly. 

“You want to kill Pierce,” Steve said in realization. 

Bucky wouldn’t look at him. “He didn’t get where he is by being careless,” he said evenly. “It would take us months to get something substantial on him, let alone enough to actually have him arrested. And that gives him too much time to make a move. We don’t have that kind of that time.” 

“I don’t want you to have to do that anymore,” Steve said tightly. “I’m not going to be the one that makes you do that.” 

“Steve, I love you, buddy, but I would not choose you as back up for this mission,” Bucky said. He glanced at Natasha, and pointed over at her. “I’d choose her.” He looked back at Steve. “You can wait outside in the car."

“I can help, too,” Sam offered gamely. 

Bucky shook his head. “You’re staying out of this,” he told him. “You’ve already done enough, and this ain’t your fight.” 

“Sounds to me like this is bigger than all of us, so I think maybe it is,” Sam said firmly. 

“Sam,” Bucky sighed. “We can’t be watching out for you. You’re not coming. That’s final.” 

Sam narrowed his eyes at him, and then turned and left the room. Bucky had a feeling that was way too easy. “That was too easy, wasn’t it?” he asked. 

But Steve wasn’t going to get sidetracked. He gently grabbed Bucky’s arm, tugging him around to regain his attention. “We’re not just gonna kill him,” he insisted. 

“I’ve got my memories back now, you know,” Bucky told him, narrowing his eyes. “I remember exactly what you planned to do to Schmidt, so don’t—” 

Steve glared at him. “That’s not exactly what I meant,” he snapped. “We’ll do what we have to, but you don’t _have_ to do what Hydra forced you to do anymore.” 

“I was an assassin long before they made me the Winter Soldier,” Bucky said carelessly. 

“No, no, Bucky, you weren’t,” Steve insisted. “We were in combat, and you killed, yeah, but you weren’t—“ 

“I’m not—I’m not being philosophical about my part in the war,” Bucky said tiredly. “I was literally sent out on missions as an assassin.” 

“You’re not remembering it right,” Steve said hesitantly. “All of our missions were together.” 

“You know how Phillips would pull you out of the field to do those god awful PR videos? For a week at a time?” Bucky asked. “And I said I couldn’t stand ‘em so I was going to town for some R and R?” 

Steve went pale. “Bucky—“ 

“He’d pull me aside, give me a target,” Bucky explained carefully. “I’d leave, I’d complete the mission, I’d come back.” 

“You said you were staying with that nurse—Amanda,” he snapped. “You said—“ 

“That was my cover,” Bucky said. “Amanda was one of Carter’s, she wasn’t a real nurse.” 

“I would have known,” Steve insisted. “If they were sending you on missions without me, I would have known.” 

“You were the reigning hero, Steve, but I was still the best shot they had,” Bucky said, glancing over at him. “We had very different skillsets. They weren’t altogether happy with me being on your team.” 

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Steve asked quietly. “Why wouldn’t you—“ 

“For the same reason Phillips didn’t tell you,” Bucky sighed. “You wouldn’t have approved.” 

“I wouldn’t have blamed you,” Steve insisted. 

Bucky smiled wryly. “No, you woulda just gone and yelled at everyone until you got yourself court-martialed. I knew who I was dealing with.” He looked away. “But I had my orders, and I followed them. Seems it ended up being my Achilles' heel.” 

Steve dropped down on the bed beside him. “Did Peggy know?” he asked, his voice breaking. 

“Don’t do this,” Bucky sighed. 

“Did she know?” he demanded. 

“Of course she knew. She knew everything,” Bucky said quietly. “Steve, we—“

“You thought I couldn’t handle it?” 

“You would have tried to stop us!” Bucky cried. “And I would have stopped for you, because I’ve never been any good at not doing what you ask. I would have disobeyed any of Phillips orders if you told me to, but it had to be done. So we didn’t tell you.” 

“Then let me stop you now,” Steve said quietly. “We can do it another way, this time.” 

“There are places we could keep Pierce that don’t exactly require formal charges,” Natasha offered wryly. “It may be prudent to keep him alive until we know more about what’s going on.” 

Steve turned back to her gratefully, while Bucky watched her with suspicion, trying to guess her motive. 

“He’s not gonna help us,” Bucky told her. 

“Not intentionally,” Natasha agreed. “You said you wanted me as your partner for this mission? Well, those are my terms. Fury’s gonna wanna talk to him.” 

“Fine,” Bucky said. “We can take him alive, but we have to take him off the board, and quick.” 

“Agreed,” Natasha said. 

Sam stormed back into the room, holding a file. He thrust it at Bucky. “You know what, asshole, read that,” he snapped. 

Bucky took the file skeptically, but flipped it open. His eyes widened at the second page. "You know how to _fly_?” Bucky asked, looking up at him with such an earnest sense of wonder that Sam completely forgot his irritation.

"Yeah, I mean, it is pretty cool," Sam preened. 

“Are you kidding?” Bucky cried. “This is like something out of Jules Verne!” He pressed his right hand against his heart. “Sam…Sam, you're my new hero.”

Steve narrowed his eyes, stepping forward with his hand out. “Let me see that,” he snapped, and Bucky handed it over. Steve raised an eyebrow. “When you said you fly you actually meant you _fly_.” 

“We are a little short-handed at the moment,” Natasha offered, as she glanced down at the file. “We could use him.” 

“We’re not using anybody,” Bucky snapped. 

Steve reached out and squeezed Bucky’s arm, calming him down, before glancing back at Sam solemnly. “We can’t ask you to help with this.” 

“You didn’t,” Sam shrugged. “I offered.” 

Steve glanced back at Bucky with a raised eyebrow that meant, _I’m good with it if you are_ , and Bucky relented with a sigh. “Fine, you can help.” 

“Yeah?” Sam asked, grinning widely. “What do you need me to do? Gonna need some equipment. I think they’ve got—“

“I just need you to drive us,” Bucky broke in. “We don’t have a car.” 

Sam glared at him, but Natasha stepped between them before he could retort. She grabbed up the file, checking the equipment. “You know where we could find one of these?” she asked. 

“Fort Meade, behind three guarded gates and twelve inch steel wall,” Sam said, with a shake of his head. 

Natasha didn’t bat an eye, just pulled out a cellphone. “I’ll call Hill,” she told them. “It’ll be waiting for you when we get back to the safe house with Pierce.”

* * * * *

They got their things together and were headed outside within minutes, though Steve was still looking less than happy about the plan. “Remember what I said about never letting you out of my sight again?”

“Yeah, but you were gonna have to get over that sooner or later,” Bucky told him, glancing at him with a raised eyebrow. “May as well be now.” 

“This is pretty soon,” he said resentfully. “I’ve just barely gotten you back.” 

“You’re gonna be about twenty feet away the whole time,” Bucky told him. 

“And also, comms,” Natasha added, holding out her palm with two ear pieces. 

“What, none for me?” Sam asked. 

“Maybe next time, slugger,” Natasha said. “Let’s see how you do as our getaway driver first.”

“I see how it is,” Sam said, grinning back at her. “How’d you get here, anyway? Don’t you have your own car?” 

“Yes,” she agreed, before glancing appraisingly at Sam’s Impala sedan. “But your trunk’s bigger.” 

“Why does—“ Sam started, before trailing off as the realization hit. 

Bucky just laughed at him. “You wanted to come,” he reminded him as he put in his earpiece. Sam snorted, and followed Bucky to the car, both of them still bickering. 

Steve reached out to catch Natasha before she could follow them. “Nat,” he said softly. “Promise me you’ll look after him.” 

“He doesn’t strike me as the type that needs much looking after,” Natasha said wryly. 

“A couple hours ago he couldn’t remember my mother’s name,” Steve told her grimly. “He’s still recovering. I should be taking him somewhere safe, somewhere he can…this is a bad idea.” 

“He’s right about one thing, Steve,” Natasha said. “We don’t have time to play the long game. They’re planning something big, and if we don’t act now we might act too late. Alexander Pierce is a key piece in their plans—we take him out of play, it’s gonna send the rest of them scrambling.” 

“I don’t want him to have to kill. In battle is one thing, we all—but not like this,” Steve said. “I can’t—I can’t ask him to do that. I won’t.” 

“Are you asking me?” Natasha asked lightly. 

“I’m asking you to make sure he doesn’t,” he countered. “Bring Pierce in alive.” 

“Was already planning on it,” Natasha told him simply, flashing him a lop-sided grin as she turned towards the door. “I meant it, before. Fury’s gonna have questions for him.” 

Steve reached out and gently caught her arm. “And are you sure _Fury_ can be trusted?” 

“I’m sure he was caught off guard when I called him about Alexander Pierce’s betrayal,” she said. “Even Fury can’t fake that kind of thing. He wants answers, just like us.” 

“Yeah, I just worry about the different ways we might be planning to get them,” Steve said. 

“I’m more worried about giving Barnes a proper introduction to Tony,” Natasha told him. 

Steve frowned. “He’s not still upset about Bucky disabling Jarvis, is he?“

“That’s not what I’m worried about. I think they’re going to get along,” Natasha said wryly, “and god help the rest of us if they do.”

* * * * *

Steve and Sam had ended up parking a couple of blocks away, after another argument, and Bucky and Natasha had slipped from the backseat together and taken off down the street arm in arm, looking just like a young couple returning home in the early morning after having spent the entire night out.

“Radio silence,” Bucky whispered when they reached Pierce’s house. He could practically _feel_ Steve fretting and would like to have reassured him, but they couldn’t risk getting spotted. 

They disabled the security and went in through the garage, stopping to check the car before slipping inside the large house. 

Natasha disappeared the moment they passed the threshold, but Bucky didn’t let it worry him. He just snuck along the hallway, checking the rooms, until he saw Alexander Pierce wandering down the stairs. 

He slipped back out of sight again, heading into the kitchen to wait for him. Pierce was wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, and had probably only just woken up. The lack of security was almost disappointing. If Bucky had decided to just kill him, he would have been in and out of here already. 

Instead, he decided to play along with Natasha’s game plan. He was pulling a beer from the fridge when Alexander Pierce entered the kitchen, stepping inside on the other side of the kitchen island. Bucky leaned back against the counter, and twisted the cap off with his metal hand. “You want one?” he offered politely. “No? Okay. That’s fine. Why don’t you just take a seat?” 

Pierce’s eyes went wide, and he glanced to the side, obviously looking for something to use as a weapon. Not that he stood a chance against Bucky even in a fair fight. 

Of course, Pierce wasn’t planning to fight fair. “*Long—*“ Pierce began in Russian, but before he could even finish the word a gun appeared beneath his chin. 

Because Bucky wasn’t playing fair, either. And even if he didn’t quite trust her yet, he was entirely confident in Natasha’s ability to watch his back. 

“You’re not gonna make it through them all,” Natasha promised sweetly. “So I suggest you do as he says, and take a seat.” 

Pierce dropped down into a kitchen chair, and then turned his attention back to Bucky. “I suppose I should be flattered that I merit not one, but two, of the world's best assassins,” Pierce said, looking unruffled on the surface, his cultured voice remaining even—but both Natasha and Bucky were well trained enough they could see beneath it. 

“I just didn't have anything better to do,” Natasha told him silkily, as she slipped a rope around him, swiftly tying his chest and his arms to the back of the chair. “He's the one that wanted to drop by.”

“Ah, yes, the Winter Soldier,” Pierce said, running his eyes across Bucky with an intensity that set him on edge. “It’s been a very long time, and yet, you haven’t aged a day.” 

Natasha stilled, glancing up even as she kept the gun held steady at the back of Pierce’s head. “Barnes,” she said warningly. “You didn’t say you knew him.” 

“I never knew his name, and we definitely didn’t _know_ each other,” Bucky said wryly. He leaned back, resting his elbows on the edge of the counter. “He was negotiating with the Russians to buy me. Came walking in wearing this ridiculously expensive three piece suit, and circled me like I was a piece of meat. Then he turned around and started flattering me like he thought I was too braindead to notice what he was up to.” 

"You were advertised as a blunt force weapon," Pierce said calmly, watching Bucky thoughtfully. "Obviously, they greatly undersold your intelligence."

“Your flattery has about as much chance working on me now as it did then,” Bucky told him. “Well, less, really, if we’re being honest. You’ve gotten old, Alex. Your charm’s not what it used to be.” 

“Is that so?” Pierce asked calmly, narrowing his eyes as he watched Bucky. “I’m still alive, so I must have something that you want.” 

“I want to know what you’re planning with Project Insight,” Bucky said. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Pierce replied dismissively. 

Bucky pulled a gun from behind him, and set it on the counter. “This will go quicker if you don’t lie to me.” 

“You’re going to kill me at the end anyway,” Pierce said. “So I’m fine with dragging it out.” 

“Doesn’t have to go that way. You help us out, and you might live,” he promised. 

"You expect me to believe that?" Pierce snorted. 

"I don't like to kill,” Bucky said seriously. 

"Someone took out an entire strike team last evening,” Pierce said. “You going to tell me that wasn’t you?” 

"I didn't say I wasn't _good_ at it,” Bucky said wryly. "I said I don't _like_ it."

"Hmm," Natasha said, circling behind Pierce. "I do. It's very effective stress relief, and I've had a long couple of days."

"I don't know anything about Project Insight,” Pierce said. 

“I think he’s lying,” Natasha singsonged, glancing back at Bucky. Bucky guessed Natasha was going to take up the part of bad cop, but that was fine. Bucky could play nice. 

“He’s willing to die for it,” Bucky said, tilting his head as he assessed Pierce. “I didn’t expect that. Didn’t think you were a true believer.” 

“Think what you want, I’m a patriot,” Pierce said firmly. “But sometimes to build a better world, you have to tear the old one down.” 

“Okay, final offer,” Bucky decided, reaching out to pick the gun up again. “You don’t want to talk about Project Insight? Fine. To be honest, we weren’t going to believe you, anyway. Just tell me where you stashed the encryption key for Zola’s files.” 

“You'll never get it without me,” Pierce told him primly. “Our base is impenetrable, and my men will destroy all the information the moment they realize their security has been breached.” 

“So it’s off site then, at a Hydra base,” Bucky said, looking up at Natasha. 

“We figured as much,” Natasha agreed. “Nice to have it confirmed though.” 

“It’s kind of disappointing when it’s this easy, isn’t it?” Bucky asked her. “There’s no real sense of accomplishment.” 

Pierce laughed. “You don’t know anything,” he said. “You’ll never find the base. We don’t have it noted anywhere in SHIELD. It’s entirely off the grid. You can do what you want to me, but you can’t stop what’s coming.” 

“You’re not as off the grid as you think, Pierce,” Natasha said. “Your car is SHIELD issue. They all come equipped with GPS, but what it doesn’t tell you in the fine print is that they record even when you shut them off.” 

Pierce froze, looking concerned for the first time, though he did his best to hide it. “You don’t know anything.” 

“We know you’ve been stopping by an abandoned bank about twice a week for the last seven months,” Bucky told him. “Nothing about the address in SHIELD, but then you just said there wouldn’t be. Guess that makes it Hydra.” 

Pierce laughed. “You think you can get in without my cooperation? Everything’s secured with biometrics, you need me alive,” he told them. “Maybe your intelligence wasn’t that undersold after all.”

“But we have you alive,” Bucky said, and made a show of thinking. “And biometrics, huh? That’s the thing where you’ve gotta scan somethin’ to get in, right?” He looked back at Pierce speculatively, then raised an eyebrow at Natasha. “Which part of him do you think we’re gonna need, exactly?” 

“We don’t need him at all, Barnes,” Natasha said wryly. “We’ve got tech these days can mimic anything we want, long as we’ve got a body to work from. Welcome to the future.” 

“Huh, neat,” Bucky said, before swiftly lifting the gun to aim it at Pierce. “Guess that means we don’t need you, after all.” 

“Wait—“ Pierce started desperately. “You don’t under—“ 

Bucky shot him center mass without flinching. Pierce’s words drifted off as his eyes rolled back in his head, and his head dropped forward. Bucky tilted his own head, examining the small dart sticking out of his chest. 

Bucky set aside the beer and moved to join Natasha, looking down at him speculatively. “You sure this thing won’t kill him?” he asked. “Because I’m going to take a wild guess that you brought this with me in mind, and I don’t go down with the normal dose.”

“Wasn’t planning to use it, I just didn't know what to expect when I found you,” Natasha admitted. 

“Pretty sure the gun you held on me at Sam’s had real bullets,” he said wryly.

Natasha whirled to grin at him. “I upgraded your threat level when you got the drop on me. Anyway, I've seen how you super soldiers bounce back.” 

“And him?” Bucky asked, nudging the unconscious Pierce with his boot. 

“He’ll just have a bit of a headache,” she assured him, as she undid the knot on his ropes, and pulled it lose. Pierce toppled forward without the restraints, his head slamming against the hard tiles with a crack. It was a sloppy move, which meant there was no way Natasha hadn’t done it intentionally. She gave him a little smirk. 

“Maybe a migraine,” she amended. 

Bucky snorted and tapped his comm. “Steve?” he started. 

“Buck?” Steve cried frantically. “What’s going on? Where are you? Did you—“ 

“We’re fine,” Bucky broke in, to calm him down. “Just need you to come park closer so we can load up the cargo.” 

“Okay, wait for us,” Steve told him. “We’ll be right there.” 

“He’s gonna be overprotective for awhile,” Natasha said casually, after he’d shut off the comm again. “You should probably cut him some slack.” 

Bucky grinned slightly, ducking his head. “Yeah, s’probably karma,” he said. “Payback for all the fussing I used to do over him when we were kids.” 

“Yeah?” Natasha asked, glancing up at him speculatively. “You consider that good karma, or bad?” 

“Steve’s always been the only good thing I’ve ever had,” Bucky told her easily. 

Natasha smirked, nodding like he’d passed some kind of test, and then returned her attention to Pierce. She deftly tied his hands behind his back, and then stood, dusting her own hands off like she’d touched something unpleasant. 

“You really got a way to fool biometrics?” he asked her. 

“Yes,” she said, “but we do need him alive so we have something to copy from. So don’t get any ideas.” 

“I don’t want to kill anyone,” Bucky told her. “Wasn’t lying about that.” 

“Not even him?” she asked, nudging Pierce dismissively with her boot. 

“He ain’t worth it,” Bucky assured her. “But if it’s necessary, I’ll do what I have to.” He could feel Natasha’s eyes burrowing into him, and he frowned over at her. “What?” 

“I was wrong,” she said, tossing him a knowing little smirk. “You’re more like Rogers than I thought.”


	9. the shield

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe it's been so long since I've updated this! This fic is happening at a glacial pace, but there is actually an end in sight. I'm trying to end it in ten chapters. (full disclosure: the last fic I tried to end at 10 chapters is currently 31/?). But this one has a much more focused plot, so I might actually keep to the plan this time.
> 
> UPDATE: I did not realize this was chapter 9. There is zero chance I am going to finish this in 10 chapters. :: head meet desk::

Natasha drove them to the safe house, over Sam’s objections about it being his car. Natasha had just grinned at him in her terrifying way, and Sam had crawled directly into the backseat without further protest. Bucky thought he better get in the back with him since he was the one to drag him into this mess in the first place, and dropped into the seat behind Steve.

Even though the distance between him and Steve was all but insignificant it was making him ridiculously anxious, so he kept pushing at Steve’s chair and poking at the back of his neck the whole time until Steve finally reached back and caught his wrist, tugging him forward so he could hold his hand. 

“Okay, I do actually need my hand back,” Bucky told him, tugging half-heartedly. He still had his metal hand free, but it wasn’t like he was gonna use that one against _Steve_. 

“Nope, it’s too late,” Steve told him. “I’m keeping it now.” 

Natasha kept her eyes on the road, pretending not to notice, but Sam’s eyes were wide. “This is just disgustingly cute,” Sam said. “The pigtail pulling was not mentioned in the history books.” 

“That’s because they didn’t want the world knowing Captain America was a little punk,” Bucky told him, leaning back to wedge his foot into the back of the car seat to try and get enough leverage to free his hand. 

“Don’t make me turn this car around, children,” Natasha said dryly. 

“Wait, pigtail pulling?” Steve demanded, abruptly letting Bucky’s hand go. Bucky flew back into his seat, and then resentfully kicked Steve’s seat in retaliation. “Doesn’t that mean—“ 

“And here we are,” Natasha interrupted smoothly, turning swiftly into an abandoned underground parking garage. She pulled to a stop in front of an elevator, not bothering to park between the lines. She glanced to her side. “Think you can behave like professionals?” 

Bucky and Steve both turned to look at her with identical expressions of innocence. “We’re always professionals,” Bucky insisted. 

“We’ve been doing this since before you were born,” Steve added. 

“You were both frozen for decades,” Natasha said. “I don’t think you actually get to use that line.” 

“That’s cold,” Bucky said, entirely deadpan, until Steve ruined it by giggling and started him laughing too. 

“I can’t believe I was worried about Barnes meeting Tony,” Natasha muttered. “It’s the two of you together I should have been concerned about.” 

“You all remember we’ve got a guy tied up in the trunk right now, right?” Sam asked. 

“Yeah, but the Widow did the knots,” Bucky shrugged. “He’s not getting out of them.” 

“That wasn’t actually my main concern,” Sam said, but no one seemed able to grasp what his actual concern might be: namely, that they were cracking jokes while they had the _Secretary of Defense unconscious in their trunk_.

It did, at least, seem to remind them of the matter at hand, and they all tumbled out of the car. Then Bucky and Steve started bickering over who was going to carry Pierce like a vacationing couple fighting over their luggage. 

“Fine, Steve, fine,” Bucky said. “You can carry him. I’ve only got the metal arm, but whatever.” 

“Why don’t you ever let me do things for you?” Steve snapped. “I just want to _do something_ , you never let me—“ 

“I just said you can carry him!” Bucky protested. “He’s all yours! I don’t want to touch him anyway. Guy was creeping all over me back before I escaped, not like I—“ 

“Wait, what?” Steve demanded, his expression going mulish. “What are you talking about? Was this guy one of your handlers? Did he ever touch you?” 

There was a loud thump, and they all turned to see Natasha had rolled the still unconscious Pierce out of the trunk. She casually grabbed him by the ankle and started dragging him towards the elevator. “Oh, don’t mind me, boys,” she said. “I’ve got this.” 

Steve instantly rushed forward, tripping all over himself to help. Natasha just rolled her eyes, but let him pick up the slack as they all squished themselves into the elevator. Steve knelt down and then tossed Pierce over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and pointed at Bucky. “We’re talking about this later,” he said, and then immediately continued talking about it. “Is this why you turned off the comms?” 

“I didn’t even know I knew him!” Bucky insisted. “I turned off the comms because you were freaking out!” 

“Is this what you consider professional?” Natasha asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Steve looked sheepish, but Bucky just tossed her a grin. “We’re fine when the shooting starts,” he promised, before frowning as he thought. “Well, mostly.” 

Tony was standing there waiting when the elevator doors slid open, his eyes on the tablet in his hand. “You’re almost an hour late based on my best estimate,” he told them, talking about twice the speed of any normal human and practically vibrating as he typed with just the thumb of the hand holding the tablet and spun his other hand around to manipulate a holographic display coming off its edge, “what’s with the dawdling? We’re on a schedule here. Fate of the world stuff, kids, and here you all are, arguing worse than the Fantastic Four.”

Steve watched him warily. “Tony…have you…you know, slept, at all?” he asked. 

“Sleep is for the weak,” Tony said, finally glancing up. “I’ve been having a five-hour every three hours. That gives me two whole extra hours.” 

“I don’t think that’s how that works,” Sam said, eyeing him with concern. 

Tony pointed at him. “Sam Wilson,” he said. “We haven’t met, but I’m sure you know who I am. We got your wings. They were sub-par. I got bored while we were waiting so I fixed them.” 

“Hey, wait a sec—” Sam protested, eyes widening. 

Tony had already swung his finger to point at Bucky. “And you! You screwed up my systems. You’re lucky I’m more concerned with figuring out how you did it than revenge. Come on, you can tell me. You’ve got an EMP built into the arm, right? That is just gorgeous. How did they manage to make the arm impervious to the pulse? Because it wouldn’t be very useful if it started flapping around like a limp noodle every time you set it off—” 

“I thought you’d be less scary out of the suit,” Bucky interrupted, his eyes widening with disbelief, “but you are far more frightening like this.” 

“Thank you for noticing,” Tony said, breaking out into a grin. 

“No,” Natasha said sharply, and pushed past them into the hall. 

“What’s her problem?” Tony asked. 

“You try spending three hours in a car with these two,” Sam said. 

“Captain Boy Scout?” Tony said in surprise. “He’s perfectly well behaved. Once went on a five hour trip in a Quinjet with him, I talked the whole time. He just sat there sketching and making humming noises to make me think he was listening. It was very soothing.” 

Bucky snorted, and Steve glanced down at his feet like a school child being called out. “Got ‘em all fooled, huh?” Bucky asked. 

“I think this just proves that you’re the problem,” Steve decided. 

Tony narrowed his eyes at them for a brief moment, and then spun on his heel. “We can figure out who the trouble makers are later,” he said. “Right now, we have bigger fish to fry. Our scary assassin number one was clever enough to loop me in, so I’ve got the basics. What I don’t understand, is why they’d want an abandoned bank right smack dab in the middle of D.C. as a home base.” 

“It’s their M.O.,” Bucky shrugged. “Hide in plain sight. It’s not like they’re stupid enough to build a tower in the middle of Manhattan and write their name on it.” 

Tony glanced back at him, and clutched his tablet to his chest with the air of an offended debutant. “Was that a slight at me?” he asked, incredulous. “I think that was a slight at me!” 

“If you’re not sure, I was obviously too subtle,” Bucky told him. “Guess I don’t got your flair for the dramatic.” 

“Okay, that is a whole lot of Brooklyn in your tone right now,” Tony said, glancing back at Steve. “Did Jason Bourne get his memory back already?” 

“Yes,” Steve said, breaking out into a large grin. “Isn’t it great?” 

“Honestly, I think I preferred the moody Terminator thing he had going on before,” Tony said, before pushing through a set of swinging doors into an open room with a long, cheap fold-out table set up in the center. 

Fury was standing on the other end of the table, with Hill right behind and to his left, her hands behind her back like she was permanently at parade rest. 

“Gentleman,” Fury snapped. “You took your damn time.” 

Natasha was already seated at the head of the table, like the star class pupil, glancing back at them sort of smugly. Sam immediately abandoned the super soldiers to sit next to her instead, while Tony paced frenetically across the room. 

Steve flopped Pierce off his shoulder onto the table with about as much care as a disgruntled Fed Ex delivery person, and then dropped back to sit in one of the chairs. 

“Should I know who you are?” Bucky asked, as he sat across from Steve and lifted his feet to cross them on the tabletop. “Cause I don’t.” 

“I’m Fury,” he snapped. “That’s all you need to know.” 

“Steve?” Bucky said, glancing over at him.

“He’s the director of SHIELD,” Steve told him easily. 

“The one they tried to kill, yeah, I remember,” Bucky said, glancing back at Fury. “That doesn’t actually mean you’re not with them. They tried to kill me, too.” 

“That mean you are with them?” Fury asked flatly. 

“Means I was,” Bucky said. 

“Barnes, we can rely on him,” Natasha interrupted calmly. 

“Interesting word choice there,” he said, though he kept his eyes on Fury. 

“We don’t have time to work our issues on some corporate retreat with trust falls and a round of paintball,” Fury snapped. “You don’t want in on this, there’s the door.” 

“Okay,” Bucky said, reaching up to casually scratch at his ear. “But it’s lucky for you we don’t. I’d beat you all at paintball.” 

“Just wait till you meet Clint,” Natasha told him, flashing a grin. 

“He coming to help out?” Steve asked, leaning forward eagerly. 

Natasha shook her head. “His ETA is too long to be worth it,” she said. “We can’t wait for him.” 

“What can’t wait?” Bucky asked, dropping his feet off the table to straighten up as he watched them. He looked back to Fury, suspicious. “You’ve already got a plan.” 

Fury leaned forward with his hands on the table, and looked down the unconscious Pierce. “My plan requires him to be awake,” he said. 

“He’s not going to help you,” Bucky said. “Torture would be a waste of time.” 

“Romanoff has other ways of getting him to talk,” Fury insisted, glaring back at him. “We need him to tell us who else is involved in Insight.” 

“Ah, no, we don’t,” Tony said, stilling his pacing to look back over at them. “Astroboy here already got a copy of Hydra’s full personnel list, all we need now is the encryption key. And we already know where it is.” 

“Wait, why are we even worrying about this?” Steve demanded. “We already know about Insight, right?” He turned to glare at Fury. “It was happening right in front of you. You were _part of it_. All we have to do to stop it is blow up the Helicarriers before they’re finished.” 

“The Helicarriers themselves aren’t the problem,” Fury said. “It’s the people that want to use them. The Helicarriers can be repurposed.” 

Steve’s eyes widened, and he pushed back from the table. “You still think you can save it?” he demanded fiercely. “What, you think this can be fixed? No. SHIELD is _Hydra_. This can only end one way. It all goes. We need to take down SHIELD.” 

“No,” Bucky said quietly. 

Steve turned to him in disbelief. “Bucky—“ 

“You destroy it and then what’s left?” Bucky asked. “You’ll leave a power vacuum, and this world is unstable enough as it is.” 

“I think I like this one,” Fury decided. “Barnes, I get my agency back, and you’ve got a job waiting.” 

Steve turned to glare at him, but Fury was unrepentant. Steve turned back to Bucky with a quick shake of his head. “Buck—“ he started again. 

Bucky pushed himself up, moving around the table with an irritated motion in Pierce’s direction. “You want to know what this asshole told me? He told me sometimes to make a better world, you gotta tear the old one down,” Bucky snapped. “I don’t know about you, but he’s not exactly the guy I want to be taking advice from. Maybe SHIELD is corrupted, but it’s what we’ve got. It’s _all_ we’ve got, and if we throw it all away—what’s left? The seven of us?” 

“Barnes is right. Maybe it’s better if we try to fix this with as little collateral damage as possible,” Natasha offered gently. 

Steve shook his head, his jaw set and stubborn, before standing to step closer to Bucky. “These people using SHIELD, they’re Hydra, which means they’re behind everything that happened to you,” he said, his voice nearly shaking with the rage he’d been trying so hard to keep contained. 

“No, that wasn’t SHIELD,” Bucky insisted. “Carter and Howard, _they_ were behind SHIELD. They built it for you! It got corrupted, okay, yeah, so let’s _fix it_. If we destroy it, then they win. You burn it all down, and who knows what’s going to rise up to take its place?”

“We can’t compromise like this,” Steve said stubbornly. “We give in on this, let them get away with it, and what, you think nothing like this is going to happen again?” 

“Of course it’ll happen again!” Bucky agreed. “So we make it stronger, and better, and maybe next time they don’t take us by surprise.” 

“You say that like it’s so simple,” Steve said, shaking his head. “But some things can’t be salvaged.” 

“It’s always black and white with you, it’s good or it’s bad, but that’s not the world we live in! Not back in the war, and certainly not now!” Bucky cried. “But you’re just gonna give up on it, just like that—“ 

“Hey,” Steve said, reaching out to cup Bucky’s face and draw his attention. He frowned at him in concern. “What happened to you and what happened with SHIELD are two entirely different things.” 

“Are they?” he asked brokenly. 

“What play do you want to make here?” Steve asked quietly, his tone becoming resigned.

“We get the encryption key, we get the personnel list,” Bucky said. “We cut Hydra out of SHIELD and we take it back. I can get the key, that won’t be a problem. I just need six hours.” 

“Okay,” Steve breathed, letting out an irritated huff as he nodded and loosened his grip on Bucky. He didn’t notice everyone else turning to stare at him in disbelief, having never seen him back down from _anything_. “Okay, we’ll try it your way, but I’m not letting you go alone.” 

“Pierce told us they’ll destroy everything before we can get our hands on it. I mean, these are the idiots that put cyanide in false teeth. They’ll blow that place the moment they realize they’re compromised,” Bucky protested. “Sending me in alone is the only way this works.” 

“Then it doesn’t work,” Steve said firmly. 

“I’ve got an idea about that,” Natasha said. “We can make a digital mask and contacts to duplicate retinal scanners, silicon gloves to fool a palm scanner. We can dress one of you up as Pierce and you can walk right through the front door.” 

“That would be me,” Steve said instantly. “I’m closest to his height and coloring.” 

“Fine,” Bucky said, looking back at him with a nod. “But I’m going with you. I don’t even need a mask. Nobody knows what I look like.” 

“There’s a five foot tall picture of you at the Smithsonian,” Steve told him flatly, unimpressed. “They’re currently running your picture on every news station in the world.” 

“Okay, valid points,” Bucky said wryly. “Let me rephrase: Nobody knows what the Winter Soldier looks like—and trust me, that’s not exactly the same thing.” 

“What are you thinking?” Natasha asks carefully. 

Bucky grins over at her. “I’m thinking we’re gonna need to make a couple stops.”

* * * * *

They had banished Tony to get some sleep on an old cot, which he only finally agreed to under the threat of Steve calling Pepper on him. Then Natasha and Bucky had left together to get whatever Bucky needed for his cover. Steve was trying not to panic just because he was out of his sight.

But Sam, despite having just met them, was annoyingly insightful. “You know he can take care of himself, right?” he asked gently. “I mean, this guy dug a bullet out of his own back in a public bathroom. He’s a bad ass.” 

Steve’s eyes widened, and he looked back at Sam in horror. 

“And you didn’t know about that,” Sam realized. “I’m just gonna shut up now.”

Steve dropped his head into his hands. “I’m trying not to be controlling or overprotective,” he admitted. “I mean, mostly out of self-preservation. I tried to sideline him from a mission once during the war and he threw my shield at my head.” He paused. “I really should have known something was happening to him right then. Most of the other guys struggled to even lift it properly.” 

Sam sighed and dropped down across from him. “We’re not always rational about the people we love,” he told him simply. 

“Yeah,” Steve agreed tiredly. “I’ve only just gotten him back, and now we’re going to walk right back into the hands of the people that want to hurt him like that again? I don’t know what to do. Should I just be supportive, or try to protect him? I feel like I’m going to screw it up no matter what. I always do, with Bucky.” 

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Sam frowned. “If I got my best friend back from the war, I don’t even know what I’d do, but I probably wouldn’t be handling it even half as well.” 

“I’m mostly just pretending to handle it well,” Steve admitted, glaring at the wall. “What I’d really like to do is raze all of SHIELD and Hydra to the ground, and then disappear somewhere with Bucky where no one can hurt him again.” 

“Never thought you’d be one to take the easy road,” Sam said, looking at him speculatively.

“Taking on one of the most advanced and powerful agencies in the world? That’s easy?” Steve asked, and snorted. “You’re gonna fit right in.”

“Not exactly what I meant,” Sam said wryly. “But it’s always easier to burn something down than it is to fight a fire.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, swallowing hard. “Bucky was always like that. Always trying to make the best of what we already had.” 

“And you’re the idealist, right?” Sam realized. “Always wanting something that doesn’t exist yet?” 

Steve grinned wryly, and glanced back at him. “You a soldier or a therapist?” 

“Bit of both,” Sam admitted. “I do counseling at the VA.” 

“Oh,” Steve said, his eyes widening. “Right. Bucky mentioned that. Sorry.” 

“Yeah. I sort of tried to bribe him into coming to group,” Sam admitted. 

“Is that ethical?” Steve asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Whatever works, man,” Sam said. “I knew I wasn’t getting him there any other way. He still owes me a session with my group once this is all over, and I plan to collect. You’re welcome there, too. Assuming I’ve still got a job at the end of all this.” 

“You don’t have to stick around for this part,” Steve said, “you know that, right? You’ve already done more than enough.” 

“Tony Stark redesigned my wings. _Tony Stark_ ,” Sam said, leaning forward with wide eyes. “If you think I’m not gonna stick around until I get to try those out, you’ve got another thing coming.” 

Hill walked back into the room, holding the tablet she seemed almost attached to as Tony was to his. “Captain Rogers,” she said, her tone formal and cool. “Pierce is awake.” 

Steve nodded and glanced back at Sam. “Thank you, for listening,” he said. 

“Any time,” Sam told him, waving him off.

Steve followed Hill back into a small room that might have been some kind of storage closet in a past life. Someone had tied Pierce to a metal chair with thick black ropes. He glanced at him dismissively, then looked back at Hill. “Has he said anything yet?” he asked. 

“No,” Hill said. “Fury’s biding his time before he interviews him. He wants to wear him down first.” She eyed Steve carefully. “You sure you want to be the one to do this? I could handle it on my own.” 

“I can control myself,” Steve assured her. 

“See that you do,” she said. “We’re a bit short-staffed at the moment, and there are better uses of my time than cleaning up blood stains.” 

Steve huffed out a slight laugh, before heading into the room. He let his amusement disappear as he glanced down at Pierce disapprovingly, and crossed his arms. Hill slipped in behind him, before moving to stand unobtrusively in the corner of the room. 

“Well well well,” Pierce said dryly, somehow still managing to look composed even with his hair in disarray and a growing bruise spreading out from his temple. “Captain America. I certainly wasn’t expecting you to be involved in this.” 

“I can’t say I was expecting you, either,” Steve said. “We met once, not sure you remember. Some benefit. You shook my hand, and someone mentioned later that you’d won the Noble Peace prize. I guess you never really know anyone, do you?” 

“Well, you certainly don’t know that man you’re pretending is your friend,” Pierce said cooly. 

“Nice try,” Steve said. “But Bucky’s the only thing I’ve ever been sure of. If you think you’re gonna play us against each other, you’re not as smart as everyone says.” 

“Did he tell you about the time we met?” Pierce asked casually. “It must have been shortly before he was sent to murder the Starks.” He grinned slyly. “Oh, didn’t you know that?” 

“I know he was sent after them,” Steve said flatly, “and somehow managed to break through decades of brainwashing to help them instead.” He marched forward, sneering down at him, as Pierce blinked up at him in surprise. “But even if he had been the one to pull the trigger, it wouldn’t have been him. It wouldn’t be his fault. It’s Hydra’s. It’s _yours_.” 

“I was never responsible for the Winter Soldier project,” Pierce said. 

“You were trying to _buy him_ ,” Steve said, not able to mask his disgust. He’d managed to pull the story from Bucky before he’d left with Natasha, and had reluctantly conceded it had probably been a good idea to turn off the comms. 

If he’d heard that conversation, he wasn’t sure he could have stopped himself from marching in there to punch Pierce out right on the spot. 

“It was over twenty years ago,” Pierce said calmly. “We never finished the deal. I never touched him.” 

“You would have,” Steve said, clenching his fists with a certainty that had his blood boiling. If Howard hadn’t found Bucky, hadn’t gotten him somewhere safe, he could have ended up in Pierce’s hands for decades more of torture and missions. 

“Captain Rogers, I would expect more of you,” Pierce said. “You can’t punish someone for something they haven’t done. I thought you, of all people, would know that. Perhaps—“ 

“And done,” Hill interrupted smartly. “I’ve got everything we need.” 

Pierce turned to look at her, trying to hide his confusion. “I haven’t told you anything.” 

“Didn’t need you to,” Hill said, not bothering to look up. “Just had to get your vocal patterns recorded for any possible voice recognition programs at the Hydra base. We got everything else we needed from you while you were unconscious.” 

Pierce paused, his jaw tightening as his eyes narrowed—but he realized he’d been played too late. He’d spoken enough to give them what they needed, even if he hadn’t passed on any information they could use. “Does that mean you’re going to kill me?”

“You’re not worth the bullet.” Steve stepped back, looking down at Pierce with disdain. “We’re going to destroy everyone that’s connected to Hydra, and then we’re going to throw you in the Ice Box for the rest of your miserable life.” 

“Cut off one head, and another—“ Pierce cut off abruptly, another tranquilizer dart sticking out from the side of his neck. 

Steve swung around to look at Hill in surprise. She was already casually dropping her gun into her holster. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, while not looking remotely sorry. “Were you still listening to the monologuing?” 

“No, it’s fine, I’ve heard that one a few dozen times before,” Steve assured her, before eying her speculatively. “Hey, you’re coming with us for back up, right?” 

Hill just flashed him a sly grin as she turned on her heel and slipped out of the room.

* * * * *

He’d thought it would be easier to put these clothes on again than it actually was. Natasha had figured out what he needed without him even having to lay it out, and had taken them to the secret basement at the Stark estate. They’d grabbed his old uniform before getting right back on the Quinjet to head back, conscious that the longer Pierce was out of contact the higher chance someone would notice he was missing before they could replace him.

Natasha had either put them on autopilot, or was letting Jarvis drive, he wasn’t quite sure, but they were using the flight back to get him ready. His Hydra gear was a little stiff, but it had been designed to last through the wet and cold and the condition wasn’t much different from any other time he’d worn it. 

Not that any of that had made it easier to put it back on. 

“It’s not the same,” Natasha said out of nowhere, while he was finishing up the straps, in what Bucky was pretty sure was a deliberate use of English. They’d spoken Russian to each other for the entire flight. 

He glanced back at her. “I know that,” he said. 

“This time you’re wearing it for you,” she continued anyway, though her voice was casual and she didn’t look away from whatever she was doing on her phone. “I need you to know that, or this doesn’t work.” 

“I can handle it,” he snapped. 

She finally looked at him then. “It’s only been two months for you, Barnes,” she said quietly. “You didn’t even get any help undoing your programming. Even I—“ she broke off for a moment, before stepping closer. “I’ve had years, and I still have moments I forget I’m free. But if you’re doing this, you can’t afford to forget.” 

“I’ll be fine as long as they’ve never seen that book,” Bucky assured her. 

“If there’s even a chance they have the words, you shouldn’t be going at all,” she said firmly. “Pierce tried to use them on you. If he knows them, it’s a good bet he’s not the only one.” 

“Pierce worked with Zola, of course he had them,” Bucky said. “But they wouldn’t have shared them with just anyone else.” 

“He probably told Rumlow and the strike team he sent after you,” she pointed out. 

“Pretty sure I killed them,” Bucky reminded her. 

“It’s a risk,” she insisted. “You know that. It doesn’t matter how much of yourself you manage to get back, if they can flip you right back how you were.” 

“It’s a risk for anyone, and there’s no guarantee they wouldn’t find me if I stayed behind,” he said, glancing back at her. “There’s nowhere safe for me, you know that. And there’s no way I’m letting Steve go alone.”

“You’re not going to be much help if you’re the one trying to kill him,” she said. 

“What option do we have?” he demanded, turning to glare at her. “It would be safer if I went in as Pierce, but Steve’s not gonna let me go alone and we’re the only ones that could. Stark’s too short.” 

Natasha snorted. “I wouldn’t say that to Stark,” she said wryly. 

“My point is, Steve can’t do this alone. He only knows how to deal with Hydra by punching them in the face,” he said. “But if we do this right, they’re gonna think I’m on their side, so they’re not gonna have any reason to use the words on me even if they’ve got ‘em.” 

“And if they do it anyway?” Natasha asked quietly. 

“Then you know what to do,” Bucky told her flatly. “Because we both know Steve won’t.” 

“He’d never forgive me,” she said, and for the first time, Bucky could hear the undercurrents of emotions in her voice that she usually hid so well. 

He paused over the buckles, giving up the pretense of fussing with them, and looked over to meet her eyes. “No,” he agreed. “But there’s no one else I’d trust to take me out if it needs to be done.” 

“Let’s just make sure it doesn’t come to that,” Natasha said, and then pulled out another case. She lifted the top and there were a number of small vacuum bags with different colored labels and lengths listed. “Pick your new hair. There’s make-up, too, if you need any.” 

There was a small square bag with his approximate hair color and length from before he cut it written across its center. He ripped it open and the wig expanded in perfect condition—shoulder length chestnut hair, but it was all definitely too uniform in its cut. “You got some scissors?” he asked, and she grinned. 

It didn’t take him much longer to get ready after that. He smeared some dark liquid eye liner all around his eyes like a mask, and then hacked at the straight cut of the wig until the hair fell in slightly uneven waves. The wig was definitely some kind of new technology, because it had latched onto his head and locked on. It looked so real that he was having a bit of trouble meeting his own reflection. 

Natasha let him get away with it this time, and didn’t say anything else as they walked two miles back to the safe house from where they’d left the jet. Tony was waiting for them at the elevator again, but this time he looked like he’d actually gotten some sleep. Sam raised an eyebrow at him from where he was leaning against the wall beside him. 

Tony smirked as soon as he saw Bucky, and let out a low whistle. “Looking good, Chris Angel,” he told him. “Who knew Hydra cared so much for aesthetics? Cause that hair cannot be functional. Did Natasha go overboard, or did you seriously used to look like you were gearing up for a L’Oreal commercial?” 

Bucky sighed. “This wig is pretty dead on, actually,” he admitted. 

“And the makeup?” Tony asked. 

Bucky glared at him. “It’s warpaint.” 

“Right, of course,” Tony said. “Very scary. I’m super concerned.” He looked over at Sam. “Is anyone else confused why Hydra would want its assassin boogie-man to look like one of those emo Calvin Klein models?” 

“They didn’t care about my appearance,” Bucky said as he stalked towards him, his voice going flat as his eyes suddenly lost all expression. “Because no one that saw me got to live.” 

“Okay,” Tony said, swallowing, backing up worriedly. “Sold. I’m totally sold. You’re scary as fuck. Jesus.” 

Bucky laughed brightly, his entire expression changing. “Come on, Stark,” he said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “I’m just screwing with you.” 

“You know I have heart problems, right?” Tony asks, reaching up to grip at his shirt, breathing heavily. 

“Oh, shit, really?” Bucky asked, his eyes going wide as he quickly stepped back. “I’m so sorry, are you okay?” 

Tony dropped his hand and smirked. “Yeah. Just screwing with you.” 

Bucky narrowed his eyes, but Hill interrupted him before he could retaliate. “If you two are finished,” she said wryly, “we’re ready to go.” 

Bucky looked up, and then froze when he saw Alexander Pierce standing at her side—except he was just a little too tall, and a little too broad, even though somehow everything still seemed proportional. 

“Holy shit,” Bucky said, watching him warily. “Gotta say, Stevie, you’ve looked better.” 

“Yeah?” Steve asked, but it was Alexander Pierce’s voice. He lifted an eyebrow. “You too, buddy.” 

“I don’t know, I kinda like the hair,” Natasha said, running her eyes over Bucky speculatively. 

Steve approached Bucky carefully, and the walk was familiar, if nothing else was. He was wearing an expensive tan suit with a light blue dress shirt beneath it, and someone had apparently divested Pierce of his expensive Rolex to complete the look. “You think they’ll buy it?” Steve asked, giving an easy smile that looked strange and unsettling on Pierce’s face. 

“Yeah, that’s…things have come a long way,” Bucky said. “They were still using old fashioned facial prosthetics when I went under. Is this digital?” 

“That it is,” Tony agreed. “It’s a digital grid that shapes itself to match the facial shapes of whoever you want it to, and then digitally projects a perfect copy on the surface of the grid. It works best on people with similar facial and body shapes, obviously, but Cap is so blandly handsome he could probably wear it convincingly for almost anybody.” 

“Thanks, I think,” Steve said dryly. 

“I’ll go get the van ready,” Hill said, moving past them. “Fury will be coordinating from here, but I’m going to be your getaway driver for the day.” 

“I’m out of the job already, huh?” Sam asked. 

“Don’t worry, slugger,” Natasha said, grinning slyly. “We’re the back up if it all goes to hell, and it always goes to hell.” 

Tony snorted. “Which is ridiculous, because you could just send me in with the suit,” he said. “I’m all the back up any of you would ever need.” 

“You’re also the best one to stay here and decrypt those files the minute we get our hands on the encryption key,” Bucky reminded him. He had given Tony the files, and Tony had insisted he could decrypt them—before admitting that Jarvis would be the one to decrypt them—but it would take at least two months even if Jarvis gave it his full attention the entire time. 

And by that time, it would be too late. Hydra would already have realized they were onto them.

“Fine, I get it, I’m irreplaceable, and can’t be in two places at once,” Tony said. “Though actually I could. It’s a trick with the suit I’ve been working on, I could—“ 

“Tony, we have to go,” Steve broke in. “Do you have what we need?” 

“Fine,” Tony said, and then tossed a small black rectangle to Bucky. “That’s a remote hard drive. Plug in the encryption key when you get it. I estimate it should only take about ten minutes to download, and once it does, I can access it remotely. Then you guys need to get the hell out of there.” 

Bucky frowned, before making the drive disappear into one of his many pockets. “We can’t just leave a Hydra base active,” he said. 

“We won’t,” Natasha promised. “But you also don’t want them to know they’re being raided when you’re already right in the middle of the base.” 

“Why not?” Bucky asked. “We can still take them by surprise.”

“Because you’ll be outnumbered,” Sam said, looking over at him in disbelief. 

“There can’t be more than thirty guys in a base that size,” Bucky shrugged. “We’d be fine.” 

Sam looked to Steve for support but Steve just shrugged like he agreed. “You guys are nuts,” Sam decided. 

“Just retreat once you have the key,” Natasha broke in. “Maria will be cutting off their communication once you’re clear, and we’ll have them surrounded. I know you could probably handle them on your own, but we’re trying to take them alive.” 

“These guys don’t get taken alive,” Bucky pointed out. “They’ll probably blow the place.” 

“Then that will be tragic, and I’ll cry myself to sleep,” Natasha told him. “But the two of you will be safe. Don’t you remember what we talked about, Barnes, why it’s a good idea you get clear before they know we’re onto them?” 

“Fine,” Bucky snapped, narrowing his eyes at her. He hadn’t had a chance to let Steve know that Pierce had the trigger words, and that others in Hydra might as well. He needed to handle that delicately, or Steve was going to try and keep him out of the fight. Bucky knew the others would all side with Steve, probably even Sam. “We get the encryption key, we get out. Easy.” 

Natasha nodded, before ushering Sam into the elevator. Tony turned on his heel to head back to the impromptu control room they’d set up. “Be careful, kids!” Tony called back. “Don’t do anything I’d do!” 

Bucky glanced back to see the elevator doors had already closed behind Natasha and Sam, which meant they’d have to wait for it to come back down. He was pretty sure that was how Natasha had planned it. 

“You gonna tell me what that was about?” Steve asked. 

“Hydra might have the words to trigger me,” Bucky admitted, without looking at him. “Which is why you’re gonna have to pretend like you’ve already used them on me. That I’m under your control.” 

“What,” Steve said flatly. 

“I said, they might—“ Bucky started. 

“I heard you,” Steve cried. “You really think I’m going to take you in there now—“ 

“You’re not taking me anywhere,” Bucky said. “I’m _going_. I can do it on my own, if you want. Or we can do it together. Those are the choices.” 

“How am I supposed to—“ Steve said, backing away a step as his eyes went wide. “You were right. I can’t do this. They’ll never believe I’m him.” 

“Look, you don’t even have to be mean to me,” Bucky assured him. “Pierce thinks he’s the good guy, thinks he’s classy. He’ll order someone shot still wearing a smile.” 

“None of this is helping me,” Steve complained. “I think you’re actually making it worse.” 

Bucky rolled his eyes, and pulled a gun from somewhere on his back. He pressed it into Steve’s hand. “This is Romanoff’s tranq gun, it’s meant to take me down,” he said. “I get triggered, you knock me out.” 

Bucky wisely did not mention the back up plan, which was that Natasha stop him with something a hell of a lot stronger. “As for making them think you’re Pierce, you just gotta stay calm, smile, and order me around,” he said. “So basically, just be you, but evil. Got it?” 

“You’re a jerk,” Steve told him fondly.

“I know,” Bucky said, and shrugged. “But this is going to work. If you’re not sure what to say, just follow my lead.” 

“I know I’m driving you crazy, but my worries aren’t exactly unfounded,” Steve said quietly. “I can’t lose you again, Buck.”

“You’re gonna be fine,” Bucky told him, which didn’t exactly address his real concern at all.

Steve frowned, stepping forward and reaching out for him. “Buck—“

“I’m not gonna hug you when you look like that,” Bucky said, taking a step back. “I’m sorry. I just can’t.” 

Steve huffed out a sigh that was one hundred percent pure Steve Rogers, no matter what face and voice disguises he was wearing. “Yeah? Well, what about you?” he said, reaching out to gently touch the edges of Bucky’s hair. “Is this really how you looked when you were with them?” 

“Yeah,” Bucky admitted. “First thing I did when I woke up was cut it all off.” 

Steve remembered the hair they had found cluttering the bathroom of Howard’s secret lab. “I really don’t like this plan,” he said, releasing the hair but letting his hand fall to grip Bucky’s arm instead. “Are you sure we can’t think of something else?” 

“We do this right, and we’ll be able to cut Hydra right out of SHIELD before they even see us coming,” Bucky said. “I know you don’t like subtle, but you can’t just fix everything by punching it.” 

“I could try,” Steve insisted sullenly. 

Bucky laughed, slipping free from his grip as he reached back to hit the button for the elevator. 

“What?” Steve demanded. “Why are you laughing at me?” 

“Just you…looking like him, I can’t take it,” he said, biting his lip to hold back another laugh. “It’s like watching a full grown Rottweiler that still thinks it’s a puppy.” 

“I’m going to try not to be insulted by that,” Steve told him. 

Bucky shot him a sweet smile that made a striking contrast to his dark buckled uniform and black lined eyes. “Good, because you shouldn’t be,” he promised. “I meant it as a compliment.”

**Author's Note:**

> Note on the timeline: Bucky wakes up from cryo a couple years after the first Avengers movie, about a year after Iron Man 3, but before events of Winter Soldier, Ultron, etc.


End file.
